Wherever You Will Go
by wired4romance
Summary: Part 2 of 'Stay With Me' begins as Catherine's pregnancy becomes the focus of the couple's happiness but also worry. Will Reynolds' machinations makes things worse or better? Find out in the conclusion of this two-part story of Beauty and her Beast...
1. Chapter 1

**Wherever You Will Go** _(Part 2 of 'Stay With Me')_

_The king of Zor, he called for a war  
And the king of Zam, he answered  
They fashioned their weapons, one upon one, ton upon ton  
They called for a war at the rise of the sun…  
__-from Zor and Zam (by Bill Chadwick and John Chadwick)_

**Chapter 1**

"What are you doing?" JT came out of the back room to find Vincent staring at the computer. "WebMD? You know what they say, he who diagnoses himself is sure to find disease. Forget something?"

"Huh? Oh. No." Vincent closed the window on the screen. "I was just looking stuff up. It's been a long time since medical school. With Catherine pregnant, I thought I'd brush up on obstetrics." He looked up. "Especially since she's being stubborn. She doesn't want to go in for an ultrasound or see an OB-Gyn. Thinks it's too risky."

"What? Tiny claws and razor sharp teeth might raise a few eyebrows?" When Vincent frowned at him, he added, "I mean, there could be abnormalities, right?"

"I doubt it. Tori's fetus was normal. There's no reason to believe Catherine's wouldn't be also. But I did learn something. She's farther along than we thought."

"Meaning, you got caught long before the hot and sultry nights of Miami?"

"Exactly. That's why I could hear the heartbeat. She's at least six weeks, probably closer to seven. I thought it was odd that she was starting to show already."

"A fat Cat. Now that will be a sight."

"JT, it's not fat. And don't you be looking at my woman."

JT laughed. "I may be just a poor bio-chemistry professor, but I do realize that much. And it's rather frightening that you're starting to sound like Blaise."

Vincent smirked and followed JT's trek toward the door. "You headed out?"

"Yeah. No one buys groceries around here! We're out of everything. Men cannot live on gummy worms alone, you know. Oh, and we're out of those, too."

Vincent chuckled and waved him away. Then he turned on the screen again. And worried.

* * *

Heather pulled the last of her rolling suitcases across the threshold of the open apartment door. Catherine looked up, her normally elegant tresses plastered against her temples. "_More?_"

"This is the last of them."

"Thank God. It must have cost you a fortune to fly this all up."

"I shipped the rest of the boxes. I was having trouble leaving anything behind." Heather smiled and stole another covert glance at her sister. It was probably a good thing she returned to New York. Catherine had clearly neglected herself in the months since she'd been gone—from the dark circles beneath her eyes to the baggy sweatpants and the—dare she say it?—slight paunch. She had almost zero energy. Not that's she'd ever point that out.

"Well, I don't know what use you'll have for," Catherine held up a plastic pink flamingo "this, but—"

Heather snatched it away from her. "Something to remind me of the sun when the dreariness returns. "Speaking of which, what a lovely day, huh?"

"To be honest, with all this work we're doing, I'd be happy with a stiff, cold breeze about now."

"Yeah, you're sweating a lot. Out of shape much?"

"Thanks for noticing. _Brat_. Isn't it 'be kind to your elders day' or something?"

Heather ignored her. "When we're done here, we should go out, take in the city."

Catherine flopped down onto the sofa. "Suit yourself. I don't have the energy. I could go for a nice cold drink, though."

"There's beer in the fridge. I'll grab us both one."

Catherine looked up suddenly. "Oh. Uh, how 'bout a Coke for me instead?" When Heather raised an eyebrow at that, she added, "Lower calories, you know."

"I'll make it diet."

* * *

"Oh, _yes_. Again."

Vincent grinned at her demanding tone. "You sure?"

"Up and down, up and down. Hard. God, that feels so good."

Switching feet, he rubbed the toes on her left foot, kneading deep into the tissue beneath her arches a few minutes before making a demand of his own. "Now turn around."

Eyes closed, Catherine pouted, not ready to give up the foot massage. "I'm not sure I can move."

"Turn. You're slumping."

"That's _melting_, thank you. And you are a magician." She sighed. "Can there be a more perfect ending to the day?"

"I don't know about that," he chuckled, watching the sunset bathe her skin in pink and oranges. The first real warmth of the season had come with all the flowers, fragrances, and colors of spring. "But turn around and I'll make you forget all about your feet." When she finally complied, he tilted her over and dug deep into her hairline with long, knowing fingers. Then he massaged her shoulders and back until she was liquid in his hands. "You know, you could have called me. I'd have come right over."

Catherine pulled his strong arms around her and leaned into his strength. "I know. I'm fine, just beat. I think my sister must have bought out all the clothing stores in Miami. Besides, she and I needed some girl time."

"That's why I waited. Did you . . . tell her?"

She heard the uncertainty in his question. She put a comforting hand over his as he sought the gentle curvature of her belly and the slight increase there. "Not yet. But I will. I suppose I won't have a choice soon. I'm already having trouble fitting into my jeans."

He pressed his face into her hair, loving the knowledge that she was carrying his child, but worried for her at the same time. "That's because you're farther along than we thought."

She lifted her head. "I am?"

"Seven or eight weeks would be my guess. Maybe more. I wish you'd reconsider seeing an OB. A sonogram would tell us for sure."

She sighed. "Vincent, women have been having children on their own for thousands of years."

"And losing them. Or their own lives. Modern medicine is much safer."

"I'm just not sure it's necessary. And I don't think it's wise for us to risk the doctor noticing anything—"

"Out of the ordinary? Catherine," he gently twisted her around in his arms. "Even though Tori's pregnancy was normal, it doesn't mean yours will be. There are no guarantees."

She threaded her fingers through the hair above his ear. "Exactly. But I'm in good hands right here."

He pulled her in closer and let the subject drop. A battle for another day. "Are you . . . afraid?"

She shook her head. "No. Anxious, maybe—just a little." When he frowned, she added, "like any other woman would be who's pregnant for the first time. But when you're with me," she held his gaze, "I don't fear _anything_."

He wanted to believe it, he did. But some things weren't his to control. Shrugging uncomfortably, he looked toward the skyline of the city just twinkling to life as dusk began to fall. "I just want you to be sure about all this. We don't really know what we're up against. I mean, it's not too late—"

She put her fingers over his lips.

He kissed them and wrapped them in his own. "It's _your _body."

"It's your _baby_. Vincent. Ours. Yours and mine. That we made—in love. Any concerns I may have are completely overridden by that."

As he was always overwhelmed by her. Vincent saw the conviction in her eyes, heard it in her voice. Every step of their journey together had been fraught with peril—from the moment they met, to the first time they made love, to the dangers they faced from without . . . and they always prevailed. He wanted to believe this was nothing different and all would be well. But for the first time, he didn't have the confidence she did.

"You know," she said, a sudden breathlessness to her voice. "Once I do tell Heather, she's going to demand you make an honest woman of me." She felt his body stiffen in response and waited a beat before continuing. "We haven't talked about baby names yet, but—what is this child's _last _name going to be?"

Vincent's lips opened in surprise.

"I know I told you a long time ago I wasn't ready, but . . . now there's no reason why we couldn't—"

"Are you asking me to marry you?"

She studied his face in the dying light for a long moment. "Would you?"

Vincent swallowed. "In a heartbeat. But I'm just . . . I'm only now starting to get my feet on the ground. I can't afford a fancy ring, or—"

"I would love simple, matching gold bands. We could swing that, couldn't we? And a courthouse wedding? Nothing elaborate."

"Catherine—"

She pressed her fingers to his lips again. "Don't think. Just say yes."

He laughed against them. "Yes."

She threw her arms around him.

Underneath a cloudless sky on the rooftop, he curled her against him, set the ancient swing to rocking with one leg, and filled his arms and thoughts with the wonder of her: so strong, so brave. But so vulnerable. And so many things could go wrong.

Leaning back, he brought the blanket up as the setting sun sent evening to them on a breeze. And felt the deep chill of night.

* * *

"You don't have to do this. Not for me."

"That's the fifth time you've said that." Blaise followed Tori's pacing as if he had vision.

She turned. "I mean it. I love and accept you the way you are. With sight or without. Whether the surgery is successful or not, nothing changes. Who does this doctor think he is, anyway, to give you hope like this?"

"Babe. Chill. Vincent said he's the best. And I'm not doing this for you, I'm doing it for us. Remember what we talked about—why I was so angry with you before?"

"You wanted me to fight—for us."

"Exactly. And that's what we're doing now. And if nothing changes, so be it. We haven't lost anything. Believe me, I'm going into this with my eyes wide open. That was a joke, Tors. Lighten up!"

Tori burst into tears just as Vincent entered the prep room. He eyed the two suspiciously.

"Uh, paperwork's done. Everything all right here?" He set Blaise's white folding cane on the stand next to the bed and looked back and forth between the two of them.

"She's just feeling a tad bit emotional today. Seems there's no end to this woman's blubbering." Blaise winked Vincent's direction.

Tori saw it. "Shut up."

A nurse hovered on the other side of the room, typing into a portable computer, a slight smile on her face.

"Take her to get something to eat, Vincent, would you?" Blaise sighed. "She's driving me nuts with her smothering."

Said with Blaise's typical good humor, Tori hadn't taken offense, but she elbowed him anyway.

"I'm not leaving until they come and get you. Which should be soon." She looked to the nurse for confirmation.

"The doctor should be in momentarily."

"See?"

"Okay, well," Vincent shifted on his feet, hands in his pockets. He was the third wheel in the room. "If you're all set then, I'll take off." He gave Blaise a pat on the shoulder. "Give me a call when you're out," he said.

"You got it."

* * *

Taking his cue to leave, he headed down the hallway of the large eye clinic housed on one floor of the midtown hospital. His own stomach grumbled. Thinking he remembered passing a cafeteria on the first floor, he took the elevator down and was just passing the admitting area when a male doctor heading his way looked up. And froze.

Vincent did a double-take. "Daws? Hey!"

The man looked around for a way to escape, but his options were few. Seeing the stairwell, he took a backward step. Then another. Then he turned and rapidly walked in that direction, ignoring the call of a colleague.

Vincent followed him through the stairway door and was on him before he'd taken a step off the landing. He shoved him up against the wall. "What are you doing here?"

"Condor! Y-y-you remember me?"

"Oh, I remember everything now."

The man's heart rate skyrocketed but he still had the wherewithal to sound surprised. "You were submerged to the deepest level. It should have been impossible for you to break out of it."

"No thanks to you. I had a little help . . . from my 'friends.'"

"You have _friends?_ N-not that you couldn't. I'm sure you're a very nice person." He peered at Vincent. "Is that why you're here? Or are you—are you on a mission, because—"

"I'm visiting a friend. And my name isn't Condor anymore. It's Keller. Vincent Keller."

"Y-yes, of course. My, you're . . . you're very high-functioning. That's good, really good."

"For a _beast?_"

Daws swallowed hard and looked around in panic at the word, but there was no one to hear.

"I'm in control, if that's what you're worried about."

"Very glad to hear that."

Vincent watched the sweat appear on the man's forehead and start to roll. "Doesn't mean I'm happy with you. Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now."

"Y-you have every right to feel that way, and I wouldn't blame you for doing it, but please, let me explain first. I left the organization. Escaped. I'm not involved in it anymore, I swear."

Realizing he was choking the man, Vincent let up fractionally on the guy's neck. But only just.

"You know they forced us," Dawson gasped. "Most of us were coerced in some way, you gotta believe me."

"Answer my question."

The man, who was close to his own age, swallowed with difficulty then spoke in rapid bursts. "The Company dispersed after Reynolds—" he looked around nervously as if the mere mention of the man's name could produce him, "went to jail. Everyone scattered. Most of us were just grateful to get out of there alive, but there were others eager to step into the void. I and a few colleagues joined forces for our own protection. We want to right the wrongs we did there. I _swear _it's the truth."

"And you're here doing . . .?"

"Mostly pro-bono work. I offer my services—"

"Neurological, if I recall, _Doctor Dawson Griggs_."

"Y-yes," he stammered, uncomfortable to be known by the dangerous man he'd altered. "T-to patients who can't afford specialized care. It's all charitable and above-board."

"Charitable. That's cute. And you're not afraid of being discovered? By the 'others'?"

"Not any more. We hide in plain sight. It's all we can do. We're tired of living in the shadows. If they come for us, they come for us."

"But I did, instead." Vincent had never concerned himself with the number of underlings Reynolds had to have had in his employ over the years. Once they'd cut off the head and source of funds and demolished the facilities, there'd been no reason to fear what was left. But of course they were out there.

He tried to maintain the level of adrenalin, but couldn't. This man had been a victim, too, much as it pained him to admit. He'd seen the nervous glances of those who'd worked on him, administering the drugs he now knew had dramatically changed him. Dawson had been one he'd been somewhat friendly with—his own age, a fellow serviceman. But he'd also helped wipe his memory. He backed off his hold a little more, but still maintained his grip.

"You—you look good," the doctor attempted cordial conversation. "How are you feeling?"

The question refueled Vincent's rage. He slammed him back against the wall. "You took away my life—my memories!"

"Yes! Yes, I'm guilty. I know it. If-if I could undo what's been done, I would. I swear."

"How many?"

"Pardon?"

"How many are with you? Wait."

A hospital worker shoved open the stairwell door to get to the next level as both men struck up a more casual pose. They held their tongues until they heard the person's foot steps fade and a door swing open above them.

"How many?" he repeated.

"Three, including me." After rubbing his sore throat, Daws fished in his pocket for a card and handed to him.

Vincent took it. It had his name and a telephone number. He realized there was nothing he could do. Dawson was telling the truth, as far as he could tell, and appeared nonthreatening. He took a step back. "Well, Doctor. Seems we're at a standstill. You know about me and I know about you. But I'd be careful what you repeat to anyone."

"Certainly. Hey," he said, as Vincent turned to go. "I meant what I said—a-about turning over a new leaf. If there is anything I or my team can do for you, well—you know where to find me. We have resources—access to medical tools, test equipment, you name it. Whatever you need—we can help."

* * *

"You want his _help?_" JT stood with his hands on his hips, astounded. "The man's connected to Reynolds! You can't trust him as far as you can throw him."

"Well, I could throw him pretty far," Vincent murmured, a tinge of humor to his voice.

"Very funny. I'm still trying to get over the fact that they're operating right here in our public hospitals. I knew jailing 'daddy' wasn't going to be the end of things. What's the guy doing at a New York City hospital?"

"Checking on patients?"

"This isn't a joke!"

Vincent stood. "No. It's not. But maybe it isn't as bad as it sounds."

"How can it _not _be? They all know who—and what—you are."

"Not everyone in the Company—or Muirfield for that matter—agreed with what they were doing. Some had obviously been coerced. You know about Kenneth Bradley."

"Yeah. He might have had regrets after the fact, but it doesn't change what he did."

"We could use some allies, JT. Think about it. Things are easier now in some ways, but they're also getting much more complex. And with Catherine's pregnancy, I'd feel better if we had more people in our camp."

"Why not just tell the whole world? Given enough time, I'm sure the press could spin it in a way that didn't sound quite so terrifying." He blanched when Vincent headed for the door. "Where are you going? We need to make a plan!"

"To talk to Catherine."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N - And on the happy note of a Season 3 announcement, I give you this! Yay, beasties! The dream lives on... Btw, lots of stuff going on in this story-help keep me on my toes. If you spot an error, feel free to point it out, lol._

**Chapter 2**

"This is so nice!" Heather enthused, cutting a slice of her chicken marsala.

Catherine took a sip of water and smiled at her sister across the table. "Well, Vincent and I wanted to welcome you back, and we thought the occasion merited a little dinner party." Her eyes shifted to his.

"It's almost like old times, only without your scar, Vincent, and without . . . Darius." Heather's smile fell.

"Oh, Heath, I'm sorry. I didn't think."

"No. No, it's okay." Heather blinked away the moisture that memory brought up. "Just sitting across from you two like this gave me a moment of déjà vu. I'm fine. That was—it was a long time ago."

Catherine gave Vincent a look and tried again. "We kind of hoped this would be the start of some happy memories, actually."

"Oh, absolutely."

"And, along that line, we . . . have some news for you. Um—"

"Catherine and I are getting married," Vincent blurted out.

Heather's head popped up. "_What?_" She looked between the two of them. "Truly?"

At her sister's hopeful look, Catherine smiled. "Truly. We wanted you to be the first to know."

"Yessss!" Heather being Heather, she actually clapped her hands. "Family!"

Both Vincent and Catherine laughed and her eyes met his again. "Speaking of family, um, you-you might have noticed something else—"

"You _are _pregnant!" Heather let out a squeal to bring the rafters down. "I _knew _it!"

"You knew it?"

"I caught you looking at your profile in the mirror the other day. I definitely knew it!"

"Uh, well, we've been talking about marriage for a while, actually," Vincent put in, suddenly embarrassed.

Heather kindly waved off his concern. "Of course you were. No, I get it. Just kind of pushes up the time table."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Exactly."

"I knew there was a reason I felt so strongly about returning! The stars were all lining up. This is so exciting! Listen, you don't even need to ask. Party planner, remember? I've got this. I can handle all the details of the wedding, the shower, even the—"

"Oh, Heath." Catherine jumped in before things got out of hand. "Uh, actually, we kind of wanted to keep things really simple."

She blinked. "No problem. I can handle simple. And elegant."

"_Meaning_, just a quick ceremony at the courthouse with a few, very close friends. _That _kind of simple."

"Courthouse? Quick? That's it?"

Catherine watched her sister visibly deflate.

"My only sister is getting married and . . . I don't get to make big deal of it? If you're too busy, you know, I've got all the time in the world being I'm between jobs right now. You won't have to do a thing; just leave everything to me—Oh. Is money an issue? Because I will totally put up the cost of the flowers and such. My gift to you both."

Again, embarrassment. Vincent could feel his face heat up.

Catherine noticed and rescued him. "That's really lovely of you, but I'm serious this time. Simple is what we want. No fuss. No surprises like my last birthday party. I mean," she looked to Vincent, "maybe we could have a small gathering—very small—at the apartment afterward?"

"Yes," he took his cue from her.

Catherine grabbed her sister's hands. "But I would love it if you would stand up with me?"

Heather's gaze swung between the two and she realized she was fighting a losing battle. For once, she chose to let it go. There'd been nothing predictable about their relationship up until this point, but there was a light in her sister's eyes she hadn't seen before. She squeezed Catherine back. "If there's a new dress involved, I'm in! You know what? Whatever you want, I'm good with it. I'm just so happy for you! And yes, I would be honored to stand up with you."

* * *

"Well, that was easier than I thought it would be." Catherine sat curled in his lap in front of her bedroom window later that night.

"She's your only sister. She's excited for you—for us."

"I know. I almost feel bad that I'm not willing to do the whole 'grand church wedding' thing for just that reason."

Studying her expression, Vincent bit his lower lip. "You know, maybe we could borrow a little money from JT—"

"No. Absolutely not. It's not about the money. I have a nest egg from Dad's estate, remember? That's not the issue. I just thought we'd save it for more important things, you know? Especially with the future so uncertain. Don't worry about Heather. We'll find a way to involve her that will make everyone happy."

He tilted her chin towards him. "As long as _you're_ happy, that's all I care about."

She spread her hand across his cheek. "All I need is you. _You _are my 'happy.'"

Heads almost together, he boosted her another couple inches to explore that cheerful thought and her luscious lips.

When he finally released her, she asked, "How's Blaise doing, by the way? Did you see him today?"

Vincent chuckled at the question.

"What?"

"You don't want to know. Poor guy. I wouldn't want to be him right now. Tori's watching over him like a mother hen. 'Smothering' doesn't begin to describe it."

"Poor Blaise. But his sight?"

"We knew going in there wasn't much they could do for retinal detachment this long after the trauma. At best, he'll get relief from the headaches and may gain _some _vision, but he'll still be legally blind."

"Some vision is better than no vision."

"That's what Blaise thinks. But we won't know how much for a little while yet. The eyes have to heal. He can't be bumped around or anything for a week or two, so Tori won't let him go out or even walk around the apartment much. You can imagine how well that's going over with Blaise."

Catherine smiled at the thought. For all Blaise's bravado, he needed Tori. That was a good thing. And since her miscarriage, Tori badly needed him—someone to mother. The couple had been through a lot together already. She had confidence they'd weather this storm as well. Thinking of mothers, she looked up. "Heather's already searching the web for an apartment. I told her there was no rush, but she insists."

"Good." Vincent glanced at the door, not completely comfortable with someone else in the apartment, but resigned to the situation for the time being. "That's why we're going to do this _quietly_." That said, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed, then started pulling off his shirt.

Her body automatically responded. Since learning she was pregnant, they'd been able to nix any type of birth control, and every night had become an extraordinary feast for the senses. She began to tingle without even a touch. "I can do quiet," she whispered.

"We'll see about that."

* * *

Two weeks later, Catherine switched off her computer monitor and desk lamp and stood, her work day finally finished. But just as she was about to leave, Gabe Lowen approached.

"Hey, Catherine. Got a minute?"

Caught, she had no choice but to turn. She saw his sideways glance at her stomach, much as he tried to hide it, and sighed. According to Vincent, the news of her pregnancy hadn't set well with the ADA, but there was nothing to discuss. She wasn't in the mood to argue. "Gabe, I—"

"It's about your father."

"My . . . father-father? Or—?"

"Reynolds. He's got a trial date."

"Oh. When?"

"Four weeks from now."

She slid back down onto her chair. "And I'll have to testify."

Gabe leaned on the edge of her desk and crossed his arms. "Possibly. We both might. But if I can get you out of it, I will."

"Thank you, Gabe. I appreciate it." Despite his feelings, he was still willing to fight for her, and that said a lot.

"It will be difficult enough for you to sit through it, I'm sure."

She nodded. "It's air-tight, though, right? I mean, there's nothing the defense can throw at us last minute?"

"Nothing that I can see."

"Well, thank you for telling me." She stood again, shifting her purse to her shoulder.

"Sure. I just wanted you to know. Don't worry about anything."

She turned to go but he called her back. "Uh, Catherine?"

"Yes?"

"You're okay, right?"

The look in his eyes said the question was more from a friend than a boss or ADA. "Yeah," she smiled. "I'm good." She spread a hand over her abdomen. "We're all good."

* * *

"Tess, we really don't have to do this. I don't need a special dress. I told you—this isn't going to be a fancy service, just a civil ceremony. And it's still two weeks away yet."

"So? You at least need something new. I've seen your closet, remember? You might as well start looking now. It could take a few trips. Besides, there's a pair of Stiletto heeled sandals I need to check out at that little boutique on 5th and—"

Stilettos were _not _what her tall, best friend needed. "Uh-huh. I can see where this is headed."

Tess grinned. "Spied them in the window last week and they're still calling my name. So, are you guys going anywhere for a honeymoon?"

"With my work schedule?" Catherine dodged a stream of business people crowding the busy cross-walk for the lunch-time rush. "We're just hoping to get away for a weekend camping trip, at this point. There's also a bed and breakfast up state we're thinking about. It's right on the water."

"Nicer than camping."

"But not as private."

"Well, do you two really need private? I mean," she glanced up. "Seems you're getting plenty of 'together' time on a daily basis these days."

Catherine smirked. "Oh, you mean our invisible escort? I'm surprised you noticed."

"Not so invisible. Stalker, much? The dude's been paralleling your every step outside the precinct for days. Building across the street, northeast corner of the roof."

Catherine looked up and sighed. "Yeah. Poor guy. I know he means well, but ever since we found out I'm pregnant, Vincent thinks I've suddenly become fragile, too. I'm pretending not to notice."

"Oh, good plan."

Catherine grinned. "He wants to give me space, but it's difficult for him."

"Doesn't he know about female power? Women were giving birth in the cotton fields for ages and then just getting up to continue working."

"Yeah, well, not with _this _kind of baby." She looked at Tess and shrugged. "He's trying, but it stresses him out. I think it's kind of sweet."

"Sweet enough to give me cavities."

* * *

Catherine met said stalker on the fire escape later than night. "What is this, throw-back Thursday?"

Vincent pulled her out the window and onto the step in front of him. "Come here. I think you need something. Besides," he started working the muscles in her neck, "it's a beautiful night."

"Mmmm. You're an angel, you know that? And I love this time of year." She glanced over the city lights below. "I've sorely missed our roof top and fire escape dates." Sighing with contentment, she had a niggling thought. There was something she needed to tell him. Something about . . . Gabe. Oh, yes. "The trial date is set for my father."

Vincent's head popped up. "Oh?"

"Gabe is going to do what he can to ensure I don't have to testify, but it's always a possibility."

"I'm sorry, Catherine."

She turned and smoothed the frown lines from between his brows. "We knew it was coming. I guess I'd just put it out of my mind."

He shifted her closer. "Well, there've been lots of distractions lately. I'll be with you all the way, you know that, right?"

She tilted her head. "Even at the trial? Do you think that's wise? I mean, I don't want anything backfiring on you, and he gets your dander up. Besides, I don't trust him."

"What's to backfire? It's an open and shut case. He's guilty. He's not getting out. I'll do what you want me to do, but you are not in this alone. But what about," he smoothed his fingers over her abdomen, "the baby?"

"The baby?"

"He _is _your father. Will you tell him?"

Catherine grimaced. "Blood relation or not, he has no tie to our baby. He wanted to kill you, remember? And he's the last person I want to find out." She sighed again. "As much as I feel like shouting this to the world, another part of me wants to keep it as quiet as possible. Private. I'm sorry. I know how that sounds."

"It will be hard to be private when you're eight months pregnant. But I understand."

"I couldn't avoid telling Heather, but if there are any abnormalities, you know we'll have to move across the country or disappear. Whatever it takes. The fewer people who know, the better. The trial's another month away. We'll be married by then. I still won't be showing that much, so I think I can cover it up. If I can avoid my father ever knowing, I will."

"That's probably the safest thing. By the time he learns of it, he'll be rotting in jail."

She curled her fingers around his neck. "You know, I really don't want to talk about him right now."

Seeing her look, he smiled. "Oh. You've got something else on your mind?"

She nodded.

"Consider the subject dropped. My lips are sealed."

"Good. Just seal them over mine, would you?"

* * *

Vincent rapped on the metal industrial strength door, the sound loud in the empty hallway. No decal or sign indicated it was a medical office of any sort, but perhaps Daws wanted it that way.

Vincent was about to knock again when Catherine put a hand out to stop him. "Do you trust him?"

He shrugged. "So far, he's told me the truth."

"I'm _so _glad you have that ability. But even so, this is a big step. He's former Company, if not Muirfield."

"Ex-Company. And I believe what he told me—about going straight. He was a victim, too. Besides, the good thing is, there's nothing here that will surprise him."

She looked in his eyes. "All right. If you're sure."

"I'm sure. And he's good. If Reynolds tapped him for service, you can bet he's the best." He rapped again.

After a few seconds, the doctor opened the door.

"Sorry-I was in the back. Well, hello." Seeing Catherine, Dawson's eyebrows went up.

"Hey, Daws. This is the 'friend' I told you about," Vincent said. "Catherine, meet Doctor Dawson Griggs."

"Catherine. Very nice to meet you. A beautiful name for a beautiful lady, my goodness. God, Keller, where do you find them?"

"Hey," Vincent replied without heat.

Catherine smiled at his jealous tone and extended her hand. "Nice to meet you, too."

"Well, come in. Please. Sorry for the mess." Dawson led them past an empty reception area into another room. "We're still getting organized."

Vincent scanned the area. "You said there were three of you. Where are the others?"

"Still at their respective day jobs right now. This is our 'after-hours' home. We each wear multiple hats. It gets crazy sometimes, but we're slowly getting everything together. You said there was a need for sensitivity, so I made sure we had the place to ourselves for a while." He focused on Catherine. "All Keller said was that you were in need of an ultrasound. I've got the equipment right in here, although I should warn you—I'm not terribly skilled as a technician. But I'll do my best. What's the situation, beautiful Catherine?"

Catherine laughed and opened her jacket. "Well, as you can see, the 'situation' is . . . I'm pregnant."

"Oh. Well, sure. No problem. I think I can tackle that. There's a need to keep it under the table, I assume?" He looked between the two.

"Catherine is my fiancée."

Daws froze. "Y-your—"

"It's _my _baby."

The doctor's mouth fell open. He fumbled for a response, looking back and forth between them.

"Oh, and did I mention? It's Catherine Chandler. Reynolds' daughter."

"Oh, God. Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh, God. You're stinking kidding me, right?"

"Is there a problem, doctor?"

He rallied himself surprisingly quickly. "Um, no. No problem. I just . . . I just didn't realize that was even . . . _possible_."

"For Reynolds to have a daughter, or for me to be pregnant?" Catherine laughed at his expression.

"Both."

"Oh believe me, it's possible," Vincent said.

Dawson swallowed. "Obviously." He let out a short laugh as he led Catherine over to a raised bed. "When you said you had control now," he said over his shoulder to Vincent, "I had no idea. I was going to say I have even more respect for you, but I think that accolade goes to Catherine."

"Just shut up and do the exam, Daws."

"Yes, sir."

Despite the rocky start, the doctor proceeded to do a careful and thorough examination. Catherine followed the hazy images on the screen as best she could.

"Well, look at that. You do indeed have a baby in there," Daws said.

Catherine's eyes were fixed on the screen. She reached out a hand and Vincent grabbed it. Her eyes misted up when she caught his. "Wait. I don't want to know what it is, so please don't tell me!"

"Probably too early for me to make that kind of a guess," the doctor said. "And I'm not certain I can pinpoint everything we're seeing on the screen at this point, but look—there's a hand, the spinal cord."

"Does everything look normal?" Vincent asked, his voice low.

Daws met his eyes. "As far as I can tell. But you'll probably want more extensive tests—"

"Just the approximate delivery date, that's all," Catherine said firmly.

He raised his eyebrows at that, but proceeded to take measurements and scan the tissue and other major organs in the area. When he could find nothing remarkable, he gave them a date and asked if he could have a moment with Catherine alone.

Vincent started to object, but Catherine stopped him. "Certainly." _You said you trust him_, she said with her eyes.

Once Vincent reluctantly stepped out of the room, Daws turned to Catherine. "You do understand what you're up against, don't you?"

"As much as I can, yes."

"I mean, from everything I can see, things are progressing normally, but the baby could have _beast _DNA. There's no real precedent for this."

"Actually, there's more than you realize," Catherine informed him softly.

"Okay, that's just . . . I don't think I even want to know!"

"Probably for the best. But this _is _a first for _us_. So . . . ."

"Right." He sat on the edge of the exam bed and folded his hands in his lap. "Catherine, are you sure you're all right? I mean, he is . . . an extremely powerful man. And dangerous."

"Yes, but not to me."

He studied her. "You're not afraid of him? There's no coercion here?"

"None. No. And why are we _whispering?_"

"_Crap_." Daws glanced toward the door. "He can hear me, can't he?"

A growl on the other side of the door confirmed it.

Hearing that, the doctor paused a moment to consider, then made his decision. There was a woman's life at stake. "Listen, I just want to make sure you're okay with going through with this. There are other ways to deal—"

"Don't even suggest it. You don't know me, doctor, or know what we've been through, but . . . I love Vincent, and I want this baby. Abortion is not an option."

The conviction in her eyes and voice made it crystal clear. He nodded, resigned. "Okay, then. I'm not an OB-Gyn, but . . . I will do everything I can to ensure you have a happy and healthy pregnancy and delivery, God willing. After that, you're on your own."

"Fair enough. Thank you, Dr. Griggs."

"Oh, Dawson, please. Or Daws. That's what everybody calls me."

"Well, Daws, I appreciate your help." She let him help her down off the table then straightened her clothing. "And I just want you to know—if you ever do _anything _to hurt Vincent again, I will personally slit your throat. Understand?"

He swallowed, eyes round like saucers. "Absolutely."

She had her hand on the doorknob and was about to exit when she paused and turned around. "Oh, and in case you were wondering . . . _best sex on the planet_."

* * *

Bob Reynolds sat at the small table—the only piece of furniture in his cell besides the bed and chair—eating his meager lunch. At least they allowed him to have his meals in private. The food was bad enough—to have to endure it with bad company would have been unbearable. He shoved up the cuffs of his orange jump suit just as a guard rapped on his door.

"Reynolds, you have a visitor."

"I'm eating," he said without looking up. "Send them away."

The guard laughed, opened the door and murmured to the guest. "Arrogant bastard. He's all yours, officer." The cell door clanged shut behind the visitor.

Bob looked up at the man dressed in dark dress blues. "You're not my lawyer."

"Lawyers are highly overrated," the man said.

Bob looked him over a moment before putting down his fork. Eyeing his rank insignia, he asked, "What do you want, Colonel?"

"You recognize this man?" The officer handed him a photograph.

Bob studied it longer than he needed to, then shrugged. "Looks like a hundred men I've known, most of them dead."

The officer laughed, reading him easily and not put off by his sarcastic manner. "'General' Allyn is back in town."

"He's no general. Rich as Midas, maybe—thinks he's a king."

"Ah, so you _do _know him."

"James McMasterson Allyn. Former spook. Worked primarily in the Balkans until he rose to power in the FBI. Retired two years ago a very rich man when his wife, an heiress, conveniently died and left him a fortune in gold. His current organization, GreenBriar, touts itself as some sort of Green Peace group, but it's all a front. What's it to you?"

The colonel laughed again. "Magnificent. They said you were the right man for the job."

It was Reynolds' turn to laugh. "I don't know if you've noticed, _sir_, but I can't walk out of her like you. Allyn's got nothing to do with me. Tell your superiors I don't work for them anymore, so if you want my help, it's going to cost you. And you probably can't afford it."

"Oh, all things have a price, to be sure," the officer said genially. "Allyn is raising an army. Seems he got hold of some intellectual property that was once under your cognizance."

The slight jerk in Reynolds' posture told him he'd hit a nerve.

"I'm not responsible for him or his poor choices."

"No, but you're one of only a few who understands the gravity of the situation—and can stop him. Seems one of your 'projects' killed someone near and dear to him and he's a tad bit upset. When I say 'army,' Agent Reynolds, I believe you know exactly what I mean. His experiments in cloning have taken him down the wrong path. If you think this cell will protect you, you are sorely mistaken."

"If you think I still have resources, you're the mistaken one."

"I believe you recently came into possession of a valuable artifact."

Bob raised an eyebrow and held his gaze. Then he indicated the room around him. "What you see is what you get. No artifacts here."

The soldier laughed again. Then he became serious. "Allyn must be stopped, and soon, or there will be a war to end all wars. His assets are dangerously close to being deployed. We believe that artifact is the key to preventing a massacre."

Bob stubbornly folded his arms. "Unfortunately, I'm retired."

"Then consider this a mandatory draft. Agent Robert Reynolds, your country needs you."


	3. Chapter 3

_Out went the call to one and to all  
That echoed and rolled like the thunder  
Trumpets and drums, roar upon roar, more upon more  
Rolling the call of 'Come now to war'  
-from Zor and Zam (by Bill Chadwick and John Chadwick)_

**Chapter 3**

"Okay, I'm taking off the wraps." Tori stood in front of Blaise, her face inches from his.

"Just do it. You're breathing on me, Tors."

"Oh. Sorry. I wanted to be close so you could see me-if-if you can. I'll step back when I finish."

Blaise waited what could only be described as 'not very patiently' as she removed the bandage strips and medical tape covering his eyes in painfully slow steps. He'd had enough. "Let me do it," he finally said, and in one quick movement yanked the tape from his face.

"Ow," Tori said automatically, and flinched.

"Babe. The tape was on me, not you."

"I was empathizing."

"Do you think you could 'empathize' a little farther away?" He blinked. "Wait. Are you holding a poster in front of me or what?"

"What do you mean? You're seeing something?"

He blinked again, tried to clear his vision. "Yeah, there's this . . . some kind of fashion model in front of my eyes. TV?"

She crossed her arms. "Idiot. Could you just be serious for one minute of your life?"

"I _am _being serious. There's this image of a beautiful woman in front of my eyes."

She put her hands on her hips. "Now I know it didn't work."

He blinked again, narrowing his focus on her face. "A beautiful, frowning woman. Nope. Doesn't look like an illusion. Jeans and a-a greenish-blue top—"

"That's me, dummy. I'm standing in front of you."

"Great God Almighty! You freakin' kidding me?"

"What is it? Are you in pain?" She dropped down to her knees before him.

"Tors? Is that really you?"

"It's me. Honey, can you really see me?"

"You're . . . _hot!_"

She felt his head. "You don't feel feverish."

"Sheesh, woman." He knocked her hand away. "Not me. You. I always knew you had a nice body, but dang!" He covered his eyes, then opened them again.

"Blaise, what the heck?"

Then he put his hands on either side of her face. "You. I can't," he moved her head this way and that, "see all of your face at one time, but you're . . . adorbs, Babe!"

"You can really see my face?" She teared up.

Blaise shifted his sensitive eyes around the room. "There's this bright light all around the edges, but if I focus on one spot—It's not perfect, but . . . good God. I can see." He let out a shout of laughter. "I can see!" He captured a lock of her hair. "Your hair—it's red. Ha! I was right."

"What?"

He laughed. "With a temper like yours, it simply had to be. Come here, you." He focused on her lips, trembling, so afraid to believe. "Ah, my beautiful girl . . . ."

* * *

Catherine made herself cozy with a lap blanket, a cup of hot chocolate, and a book entitled, 'What to Expect When You're Expecting.' "If they only knew . . ." she said out loud when suddenly the door bell rang. She looked at the clock on the wall and her eyes crossed. Probably Heather, but she wouldn't put it past Tess to 'conveniently' need stop by at this ungodly hour of the evening. Even she was getting somewhat mother hen-ish lately. "I'm coming," she called to the door, as it took her a bit to unwrap herself. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Catherine. Tori."

Ah. Catherine slid the lock aside and opened the door. "Hey. Is everything all right? I heard you had good news today. I'm so happy for you. I planned to visit, but time kind of got away from me. Come on in."

Tori raised an eyebrow at that, the only sign of disbelief on her face, and took a single step inside, a large shopping bag in one hand. "Here." She held it out.

"What's this?"

Tori glanced at Catherine's growing belly. "It's for the . . . it's for the baby."

_Oh, God._

Catherine didn't immediately reach for it, so Tori set it down unceremoniously on the floor. "Blaise has some sight back—it's not a lot, but much more than he had before. I didn't want him to see these and feel sad. I hope you can use them."

Catherine collected herself and took the bag over to the table. Then she pulled out the items one by one: a baby blanket in greens and yellows, a set of infant Onesies, little white knit booties. "Oh, Tori." She and Vincent had been so focused on the wedding one week away, they hadn't even started collecting baby things. "But they're yours."

"It's okay. I want you to have them."

"Surely you'll want to try again, and—"

Tori shook her head firmly. "Maybe someday—in an alternate universe. But not anytime soon. Right now we have each other, and I just want to concentrate on that." She looked Catherine in the eye. "Really, it-it's more than I ever hoped for. And it's enough." She smoothed a hand over the tiny butterfly appliqués on the blanket and started to tear up. "I . . . I'm sorry. I just can't—"

Before Catherine could respond, Tori was half-way to the door. "Tori—"

"If you can use them, fine," she tossed over her shoulder. "If not, give them away." That said, she exited the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

Catherine stood for a moment, stunned. Then she went back to the table. Holding the tiny booties up, she tried to imagine the child whose feet would fill them. Dark hair. Long, sooty eyelashes, peek-a-boo dimples. It was all so amazing and scary at the same time. She sagged into a nearby chair and dialed the only person who truly understood: Vincent.

* * *

Gabe Lowen leaned back in his swivel chair and frowned over the report he was reading. A curt rap on the door jarred him out of his thoughts. He shut the folder and called for the person to enter.

An assistant stepped in and handed him another folder. "The report on the arson investigation, sir."

"Great. Thank you, Jeremy."

The man started to leave, but turned back suddenly. "Oh, and by the way, you wanted me to keep you informed of any news related to Agent Reynolds."

Gabe sat up straighter. "Yes. All visitors and anything and everything case-related. Why?"

"Well, Mr. Reynolds was released today—all charges dropped. He walked."

"_What?!_" Gabe shoved away from his desk and stood. "He hasn't even been to trial yet."

"Received a pardon, I guess—from the highest levels."

Still trying to wrap his mind around that, Gabe frowned. "How long ago was he released?"

"About an hour."

"And you waited until _now _to tell me?"

The assistant flinched.

"Get Detective Chandler on the line. _Now!_"

* * *

Another hour later, all the interested parties, minus Tori and Blaise, had assembled at the club.

"I'm sorry for the short notice, but I wanted you all to know the situation."

"How is this even possible?" Vincent asked, arms crossed and leaning against the edge of the bar with a dangerous expression. "The charge was conspiracy to commit murder. You had him on tape."

"We're not certain," Gabe shifted uncomfortably. "But I have my suspicions."

"This is bad. This is very, very bad," JT grumbled.

"I'm throwing every resource I have at it," Gabe continued, "and will continue to do so, but unfortunately I'm being railroaded at every turn. All I know is he was visited yesterday by an Army colonel, name of Anderson, and today his case was summarily dismissed."

"He just walked. Oh, this is rich. The wiliest man on the planet—_who knows all about beasts_—and they just let him out!"

"_JT_."

"Don't 'JT' me this time or tell me to calm down, Vincent. The only reason you and the rest of us have had any semblance of a normal life in the last few months is because _that monster_ was finally behind bars—for good, according to our ADA here—and now, presto! He's out! That worked well, didn't it?"

Vincent conceded the point. "He's right," he said to Gabe. "You _did _promise."

"Do we know where he went?" Catherine, tired of the macho blustering in the room, sighed and asked the first logical question.

"We're working on it, but no. Not yet."

"Perfect." JT threw his arms up in the air.

"It's only been a few hours," Vincent said, taking his cue from Catherine and understanding the greater ramifications to her. "We'll get the facial recognition software up and working on it. He couldn't have gotten far."

"And I'll see what I can learn from the precinct computers," Tess spoke up for the first time.

"He's had time to fly out of the country," JT argued.

"Okay, enough." Gabe shot him a look. "Let's not get overly excited—yet. As far as we know, he's still in the area."

"Doing God knows what."

"That's what we need to find out. He may be my father," Catherine pointed out, "but JT's right. He's clever and he's dangerous, and always up to something. We need to know where he is and who he's with at all times."

Gabe looked over at her. "Catherine, as his daughter, it's possible he'll reach out to you."

"I doubt it."

"No. You're wrong," Vincent said. "He's always been protective of you. Tori can vouch for that."

"Then we set a trap. Use me to lure him in."

"Absolutely not. I can track him. I've done it before; I can do it again. Tori will help."

"While he's here on U.S. soil, maybe," JT agreed. "But once he gets airborne, all bets are off. Even _you _can't track him then."

"We may have more resources than you think," Vincent said cryptically, and all eyes turned to him.

"Dawson?" Catherine asked.

Vincent nodded.

"Who's the hell's Dawson?"

Vincent almost grinned. Gabe hated being out of the loop. "He's former Company—one of Reynolds' former lackeys who scattered after we destroyed their operation. I ran into him at the hospital when Blaise went in for his surgery."

"He was at a public hospital? And you're just telling us this _now_?" Gabe asked, astounded.

"I needed to do some investigating first. He's turned. Wants to right the wrongs the Company did. He's on our side. And he's not alone."

"Works for good now, instead of evil? Come on, Vincent, get real." JT shook his head. "The only good Muirfield or Company man is a dead one and you know it."

"That isn't fair, JT." Catherine looked at Vincent, both silently acknowledging the victims Bob had left in his wake. Most of them hadn't gotten there by choice. "We haven't seen the two others yet, but I've met Dawson, myself," she added. "He seems like a good guy. And Vincent can tell if he's lying or not."

"They have equipment which may be helpful—lots of it. Confiscated or otherwise, I don't know, but they've collected it in a warehouse downtown."

"You may be comfortable knowing a group of Reynolds' former agents are creating their own laboratory off the grid again, but I'm not," JT said. "We've always worked alone and we've managed to keep our heads above water for years now. I say no. It's too risky."

"But that may not be enough," Catherine pointed out. "Not this time. Bob knows what we're capable of. I'm all for trying to see if we can locate him on our own, but if we can't, then we _have _to risk it."

All eyes turned to her. She looked up to Vincent, her voice soft. "The wedding's just a week away."

"Nothing and no one is going to stop that from happening."

* * *

"Anything yet?" Tess caught up to Catherine as she headed down the narrow hallway at the precinct. Catherine pulled her into an empty interrogation room for privacy.

"Nothing. You?"

"Same here. It's like he disappeared into thin air."

"It wouldn't be the first time." Catherine grimaced.

Tess put her hands on her hips. "What are you going to do? Shouldn't you at least post-pone your nuptials until we figure this all out?"

"Vincent doesn't want to, and I have to agree."

"Why not?"

"Because I won't give my father that kind of power over us, Tess. Not again. We're going to proceed with our lives and deal with things as a couple now. Vincent is my future, whether it disrupts my father's perfectly designed dastardly plans or not."

"Well, we don't know for sure that he has any."

"Then why was he pardoned so mysteriously and the records sealed? No, there's something afoot. We just need to figure it out. We've done it before; we'll do it again."

Tess sighed. "This never ends, does it?"

"Not until the fat lady sings."

"God help us."

* * *

"A penny for your thoughts." Vincent leaned against the backboard as Catherine straddled him.

"Hmmm. My thoughts are weightier than that," she said. "You'll have to dig deep and cough up at least a quarter."

"That bad, huh?"

"Not bad, no. Just . . . anxious. All the stuff with my father, you know. But right now I'm trying very hard to corral them into a corner and keep them there. I just want to focus on you—on us. This night. Nothing else."

"No second thoughts?"

She smiled a sad smile and put a hand to his cheek. "No. No second thoughts, you silly man. Or third. Or fourth, even. Short of a freak summer snow storm that completely snarls traffic in the city, there is _nothing _on this earth that will stop me from showing up at that courthouse tomorrow. You believe me, don't you?"

"Yes."

His mouth said the word, but his eyes held a frisson of doubt.

"I can see you're in need of some reassurance." She shifted a fraction closer. Their bellies touched—easier these days than ever before, she smiled to herself. The fine hair that ran from his navel downward was soft and tickling.

"Oh, I like that idea," he said, eyes closing in pleasure. "Feel free to 'reassure' me as much as you'd like." His eyes opened. "As long as you do it before midnight."

"What?" Her eyes shot to the clock It was only minutes before that hour. "What happens at midnight? You're not going to turn into a pumpkin, are you? Or no—finally sprout those whiskers and a tail?"

He shook his head, grinning, then moved slightly against her again and sent them both to a place where thoughts turned to mist. It took him a moment to gather his back. "At midnight, I disappear. I can't see the bride the day of the wedding until she walks down the aisle, remember? It's bad luck," he whispered against her lips.

"Nothing about you or our wedding tomorrow could possibly bring me bad luck. I'm immune."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," she said and groaned as he clutched her again, this time almost uncomfortably tight. Just then the nightstand clock flipped over to 12:00. Vincent let out a breath he'd been holding and immediately loosened his grip.

She gasped. "Wait. You're serious? I thought you were just kidding!"

He tapped his naked wrist. "Tick tock." Gently lifting her off of him, he slid a leg out of the bed.

"Hey!" She tried to grab onto him. "No. Come back here. Finish what you started!"

He leaned over and kissed her on the nose. "So bossy. Is this the kind of wife I'm marrying?"

She sat back, breathless and dumbfounded, and watched him drag his clothes back on—noting, with a grunt of satisfaction, that at least it wasn't easy for him. She drew her hair out of her eyes. "This is blackmail."

"Uh-huh."

The cad. He was laughing!

Seeing her very visceral dismay, Vincent shrugged on his jacket then leaned down to placate her with another kiss. "It's just a few hours. Hold onto that thought. They say it's best to leave them wanting—the anticipation makes it ten times better. I want to be in your dreams tonight," he whispered, "so tomorrow will be magical."

Catherine still pouted, but her expression had softened to mild irritation. How could any woman hold her anger against that? She dropped her face into a palm. "If I had my handcuffs within reach, you know you'd be chained here until morning."

"That's why I hid them." He laughed again and stood. "Sweet dreams, Miss Chandler." He studied her beautiful, expressive eyes—eyes that dared him to believe the impossible: that such an amazing woman could love and accept him—all of him—and still choose to spend the rest of her life with him-it still confounded him.

She held his gaze. "What is it?" She subconsciously pulled a corner of the sheet up over her stomach.

He leaned down and put a hand to her cheek, rubbed a thumb across her luscious lower lip. "I'm just memorizing your face. After tonight, I'll never see Catherine Chandler again."

She frowned. "Why do you say that?"

"Because tomorrow you'll be Catherine Keller forever to me."

* * *

Catherine sat at her desk staring at the phone. So far, all of hers and everyone else's attempts to contact her father had failed. There had to be a better way. She'd thought, just for a moment, that she meant enough to him to give her the time of day, but perhaps those days were long past. Her chatboard posts, the anonymous newspaper ads, the phone messages—she assumed at least one of the myriad requests she'd left would have met with success. But nothing.

Tess came by, her purse on her shoulder.

"What are you doing still here? I thought you'd be long gone. You _do _have a wedding to get to, you know!"

Catherine smiled. "Yes, I do know. Thank you very much. I'm just finishing up some paperwork. If I'm going to try to get away for two whole days, I don't want anything calling me back."

Tess waved off her concern. "I got you covered, besty." She waited. Catherine still didn't move.

"I'm still hoping he'll call," Catherine shrugged. "I know. It's silly. But I was hoping to have a word with him before we . . . never mind. You know," she put her hands flat on her desk. "He doesn't warrant this much effort."

"That's the spirit. Move on. I'm headed to the hairdressers."

"Aw. Can't wait to see you all dolled up."

"Yes, well, it's the only wedding I'm likely to be a bridesmaid in. We're making it count. Okay. See you there, partner. Don't be late."

"I won't. I'd never do that to Vincent."

Tess paused and turned. "No matter what the circumstances, the man makes you happy, Cat."

Catherine smiled. "Yes, he does. And I hope to make him as happy as he makes me."

Watching her partner leave, she shook her head. Tess had come a very long way in her acceptance of Vincent. She watched as Tess crossed the precinct floor to the elevators and disappeared. She stood to leave, herself, when her cell phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number.

"Hello?"

* * *

Catherine opened the heavy rooftop door to find the private chopper sitting on the helipad, its blades already turning. There was an impatience about the scene that was almost palpable. No doubt, the pilot was just waiting for this meeting to be over with in order to whisk her father away to parts unknown.

Before he did that, though, she needed to get information from him. Her urgent plea to see him had worked; now it was time to play the part. She checked her watch. _Still time_. Wrapping the belt of her loose-fitting jacket around her tighter, she took a deep breath and strode forward. Bob Reynolds stepped out from the side.

"Thank you for this," she said. "I wasn't sure how to find you."

"You nearly didn't. I would have been out of the country by now if it hadn't been for a mechanical glitch."

He didn't elaborate, so she let it go. "I'm glad you found the time."

"You _did _say it was urgent."

"Yeah, I just—I needed to connect. But it looks like you have something urgent pulling on you, too." She glanced toward the helicopter.

"Catherine, I know there are deep wounds between us, but I still want to be a real father to you."

"By jetting out of the country at your earliest opportunity?"

He sighed. "You don't understand now, but I hope someday you will. This is me trying to do the right thing."

"By not paying for your crimes?"

"Those charges would never have stuck and you know it. Vincent is the real killer. _He _killed Zach and Windsor, not me." He raised his hands when she looked about to argue. "Because he's extremely dangerous. You were clever and laid a neat trap, but it's over. You and your friends are no doubt wondering why I was let out before the trial. I know I should pay for what I did to you, but this has become bigger than you and me. A war is brewing—the likes of which we've never seen. I can't go into details but, . . . I finally have something in hand that will stop this insanity once and for all." He held up a small metallic tube.

"What do you mean? What is that?"

"There's a man—a very powerful man with a vendetta. His name is Allyn—that's all I can say. He . . . he headed up a sister organization to mine overseas. I wouldn't give him access to our DNA experiments—we held that information very close to heart. But he created his own. He went a different route—involving cloning and some other things you don't want to know. The bottom line is, he's out for blood and about to go public with his little 'army.'"

"Beasts," she surmised.

"Of a sort. But I can stop him. With this. It's a toxin. We manufactured it from what we discovered at that wreck."

"The ancient shipwreck in Florida? So this has to do with Luis Dauphinais?"

"Dauphinais was a fool who had no idea what he was after. It's fortunate we were able to get to it first."

"Because he's _dead_. Tess said an old cargo manifest they found listed 'beast' or 'beasts' on board. Is that what this is about?"

"Actually, just the remains of one—a heart. An unfortunate pirate captain captured a trading vessel with the animal on it. Thought it was an interesting trophy, but he didn't know its value. The animal was sedated below decks and forgotten. It starved to death long before they headed to the Americas. The ill-mannered captain then took the heart of the beast and sealed it up in a lead box and wore it around his neck like a talisman. We knew he had gone down with the ship, but until Dauphinais pin-pointed the location, we thought it lost forever."

"But what does any of that have to do with this 'Alan' and his army?" Catherine asked, once again outraged and horrified by the historical roots of the whole bloody mess.

"Allyn's is an army of beasts. Not like Vincent. Different, but just as dangerous. And because the heart contained original beast DNA, we were able to create a super toxin. Works like an antibody, but it kills not only the beast but the host. What's in this bottle," he held up the sealed tube, "once airborne, is enough to wipe out every beast that's ever lived or ever will. It poisons the root."

Icy veins of fear clutched at her insides but she fought to not let it show. "You've spent all your efforts manufacturing a toxin?"

"Not just any toxin. And it's already done. This is all we need. This one bottle will wipe out the species, now and forever. A drop of this into the atmosphere and it goes viral. Of course, it won't hurt humans or animals—only beasts with a link to this animal's DNA."

The ramifications hit her like a brick to the stomach. "_No_."

"You'll thank me for it later, Catherine. You will. It's the only way I can set things right between us. You've been living this nightmare for too long—we all have. And it's all my fault."

"That nightmare has a name, damn it. And I happen to be in love with him!"

Bob Reynolds had to audacity to look compassionate. "You think so now, daughter, but your life could be so much more."

"That's _my _choice, not yours."

He shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately, not anymore. I removed your choice when I started down this road, and for that I'm sorry. But I'll take it away again to set everything to rights. This needs to end—for all of our sakes. Take care of yourself, daughter. When this is all over, I'll be back, and we'll talk."

He turned to go and she grabbed his arm, no longer caring how desperate she sounded. "Wait. What can I say to make you change your mind? _Please don't do this_."

Bob shook his head. "Give me one good reason."

She looked at the lead container and realized her time was up. She was late to the wedding, late to understand the depths to which this man would sink, and late to realize it didn't matter anymore. Once he released that toxin, Tori, Vincent, their unborn child—probably even she herself—would be dead. She untied the belt of her jacket and let it open to the breeze, revealing her growing belly. "Okay, then. Here's your reason."

Bob stared, confused. Then the realization hit him and he let out a string of expletives. "Ah, hell. _Hell_, no!" He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "What were you thinking?"

"It wasn't planned, but now that we know—"

He let go of her and bent over, a hand covering his face. "Ah, God. _Catherine._"

"It's okay. I'm okay. And actually—"

He swore.

"If you're worried about me, don't be. Vincent and I, we've got this handled. And we'll do what we must to protect—"

"I really wish you hadn't told me that, Catherine."

His voice was low and dangerous and she was suddenly as afraid of the question as she was of the answer. "Because?"

He straightened and leveled his gaze on her. And a gun. Then he grabbed her arm in a steel grip. "Because now you're coming with me."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N - Hold on tight, dear readers. Things may get a little rough . . . ._

**Chapter 4**

"I have no intention of going with you anywhere. I have someplace very important to be." Catherine stared at the gun and wished she had Vincent's ability to discern whether or not someone was lying. Would Bob Reynolds pull the trigger? She didn't know. But just the thought of Vincent brought the adrenalin to the surface. It was fight or flight time.

"So much for good intentions. I'm sorry to disrupt your busy schedule, but I'm afraid you're going to be a little late," Bob said and dragged her a step closer to the aircraft. "I'll be sure and write you a good excuse."

"_No!_" Realizing his intent, she struggled with all her might. With the gun in one hand, he only had one arm to hold her with. If she had room enough to move, she could use her feet. One solid roundhouse kick and she could down him. But apparently 'Bob' knew her well enough to hold her close and make that impossible. She could feel her phone buzzing in her pocket. If only she could get a message out! From the corner of her eye, she saw the chopper pilot running their way.

Catherine felt the panic rise up. Vincent! The one time she wouldn't have minded his stalking, and instead the love of her life waited for her in a suit and tie on the steps of the courthouse! What would he think when she didn't show? God only knew. The horror of that thought made her struggle more desperately. If Bob slackened his grip, she'd be free.

Her father was stronger than she realized.

"Forgive me, daughter, but this is where I take the choice away from you."

"What?" It was the last thought she had before the butt of the gun hit her in the temple.

* * *

"Help me get her into the chopper!" Bob yelled while catching her fall. He hated to have hit her, but it had been his only option. The pilot reached them then.

"Find her phone and leave it on the tarmac! Then take us out of here—pronto!"

Together, they maneuvered her into the rear seat of the helicopter and fastened her down. Then the pilot jumped up into his seat and began pressing buttons. He swung a look back as Bob climbed in next to him.

"She'll be fine. Did you get her gun?"

The pilot handed him the pistol as he readied the craft to lift.

"I didn't hit her that hard. She'll probably wake up before we get to the airport." He pulled the tranq gun out of a compartment.

The pilot looked at him, a question in his eyes.

"I'm halving the dose. I wouldn't do it at all if I had a choice."

"What are we going to do with her?"

Bob looked back at his sleeping daughter, the gentle rise of her burgeoning abdomen now blatantly obvious in the glare of afternoon sun, and felt sick. "Change of plans. We're taking her with us. I've got to get her as far from here and James Allyn as possible. Call Butler. Tell him I'm going to need a full medical crew on board the plane. Now!"

* * *

Vincent paced the hallway in front of the courthouse office. "Where is she?"

Tess pulled out her cell phone.

"Hey. You know women. They're never on time," JT said lightly. "Probably last minute wardrobe malfunction."

"She'll _be _here," Tess said, a deep frown on her face as she studied her phone's display.

Gabe put his cell phone away and turned around. "She's not answering her cell. I just called the office. She left some time ago, according to the clerk at the front desk."

"Maybe she got stuck in traffic?" Heather suggested, a hopeful note in her voice. "I'm sure she'll be here, Vincent."

Vincent smiled at Heather's attempt to reassure him. "Yeah."

"What's happening?" Blaise asked.

"Catherine's late," Tori whispered.

"Something wrong?"

She slid her fingers into his and looked worriedly over at Vincent. "I sincerely hope not."

"No major traffic tie-ups between here and the precinct," Tess announced, then checked her phone for other possible incidents.

JT sidled up to his best buddy. Vincent was attempting to stay calm, but he could see what it was costing him. "Don't worry," he said.

"How can I not worry, JT? It's my wedding day and I don't have a bride!" He looked at his watch and shrugged at the clerk's secretary. "She's forty-five minutes late. Maybe . . . maybe she changed her mind . . ."

Tess heard that and rushed over to him. "Listen to me." She took his face in hand and made him meet her eyes. "That woman loves you beyond everything and would _never _leave you at the altar, do you understand? This is not a case of cold feet. Don't even go there. Something else obviously happened to delay her. We just need to be patient." She caught Gabe's eye and nodded toward Heather. She was the one variable in this scenario who didn't comprehend all the stakes. When he came over, she pulled him aside, away from the others.

"If Catherine doesn't show in the next hour, we need to get her out of here. Can you do it?"

Gabe blanched. "Heather? How? What excuse am I going to use?"

"You're the ADA. Think of something!"

"You were the last one to see Catherine. Did she say anything to you that might be a clue as to why she isn't here?"

"No. She was just about to head out, but was waiting . . . for a call from her _father_." She swore.

"_Demon Daddy_ may be involved?" JT almost squeaked as he pushed his way into the conversation. "She found him when we couldn't?"

"She hadn't heard from him before I left, but—"

"It's the only thing that makes sense." Gabe said. "I need to get back to the precinct, retrace her steps, check her cell phone records. Tess, you go to her apartment. See if you can find anything there. JT," Gabe looked over at the lonely bridegroom. "Get him back to the club and keep him calm. Maybe this whole thing is just a big misunderstanding and we'll all be back here in a couple of hours."

"If Reynolds has her—"

"For all we know, JT, _she _has _him _and just can't let us know. Let's not panic. "

"I hate to point out the obvious, but we're forgetting one important point. Vincent can track Catherine. He can find her faster than any of us."

"Frankly, in his state of mind, I'm more worried about him beasting out and going on a rampage. It wouldn't be pretty. Let's start with the obvious. We're detectives. Let's detect."

* * *

Catherine woke to a deafening roar and a splitting headache. She lifted her eyelids as the tiny craft jostled against the air currents and realized she was in the helicopter that had been awaiting her father on the rooftop. Sensing small motions would go unnoticed by the two men in front, she kept her movements to a minimum and stealthily scanned the cramped space. The pilot and her father were having a conversation, but she couldn't hear them over the roar of the rotor blades. At least they weren't paying any attention to her. She sat in the seat directly behind her father. Outside, the sun was sinking lower in the sky, but it was still light, and she could see the brilliant glimmer of light in front of them. They were heading east over water.

That told her something, but not enough. She carefully felt around her. She was belted in, but that's all. No ropes tied her hands or feet, although the butt of a tranquilizer gun was visible on the dash. She sensed the pilot about to turn her way and froze, her eyelids shut.

The helicopter jostled again and they started to bank. She risked another look. And then she saw it. Poking out of her father's jacket pocket was the small, metal vial.

There was no way she could let him release that toxin, but what could she do? She took a calming breath and rehearsed her options. There would only be one chance. The window next to her was cracked open a notch. The slider seemed in good repair but she had no real way of knowing. She wouldn't have time to grab the gun, too, but her choice was clear. She had to get rid of that vial. The lives of people she loved depended on it. She counted to three, then waited for the next bump and sprang into action.

It hurt her head to move so rapidly. She couldn't help crying out as she grabbed the vial with one hand and slid the window open with the other and threw it out.

The pilot caught the movement and flash of metal. "Hey! She's awake!" Seeing the open window, he shouted at her. "What did you just do?"

Catherine smiled. If they killed her now, at least she'd saved Vincent and Tori from whatever horrible death that toxin would induce.

Bob saw her face and immediately felt for the vial. It was gone. "What have you done?!"

"Just took the choice away from _you_!" she screamed.

He shot her with the tranq.

* * *

"Go, go, go!" As soon as they touched down, Bob urged them on as they ran for the stairway onto the jet, carrying Catherine's lax body upright between them. As soon as they got half-way up the stairs, he signaled to the jet pilot to get them up in the air as quickly as possible. Before the stairway was fully retracted and the door closed, they began to taxi down the tarmac.

"Don't stop for anything or any_one_. Get us airborne!"

A black man approached as they scrambled for their seats. "We'll have to refuel at some point, but we can use one of our bases. Our patient, I presume?" He nodded toward the unconscious woman.

"What were you able to get?" Reynolds asked his second-in-command, ignoring the question. He checked his daughter's pulse.

"A small team, and as much equipment as we could scramble in the time available," the man confirmed.

"Soon as we're at altitude, get her in the back. We've got our work cut out for us."

"The pilot is awaiting your orders, sir."

Bob studied his daughter and frowned. "Where's Chen?"

"Chen? Somewhere in the south China sea? Cambodia, if I recall correctly."

Bob grimaced. It wasn't the best choice, but about as far in the opposite direction as he could get her. He hoped to God it was enough. "Tell Reese to take us there. Oh, and Butler?"

"Yes, sir?"

"He doesn't need to know why."

The man nodded solemnly, understanding. "Yes, sir."

* * *

A short time later, Catherine still rested peacefully on a gurney in the back of the plane.

"Where's the rest of the team?" Bob asked, scanning the three faces beside Butler. It was a skeleton crew and not the finest.

"This is all that's left," Butler said.

"Dawson?"

"Off the grid since the scattering."

Bob swore. "Too bad. We could really use his expertise about now."

Butler looked at the sleeping woman. "Memory wipe?"

"We don't have time for anything comprehensive. I need her confused, yes, but more importantly I want to implant some not-so-subtle suggestions: a vehement distrust of beasts—one in particular—among other things. Then we'll get her someplace safe and very remote."

"You're going to drop your own daughter into the middle of Indochina without a clue as to how she got there?"

Bob eyed his right-hand man. So he recognized her. "You have a better idea? She'll be as far away from television, cell towers—any and all technology—as we can get her. Chen can keep an eye on her. She's a survivor; she'll be fine, and far from my superiors' reach. If they find out what she's done, she's dead."

"And safe from the toxin, I assume, if we can re-create it."

Big if. Bob didn't know if that was even possible now, and there wasn't much time. They have to come up with something else.

"What about the fetus?" Butler asked, his voice low. "We can take it now. The partial memory wipe may even prevent her from remembering she was ever pregnant."

Bob stared at his daughter and only child—still young and vibrantly beautiful. And carrying his grandchild. No. He couldn't do it. Not that. It was one thing to kidnap her—another entirely to rip her open and take her unborn child, as hideous as that child might be. But one thing was clear—no one beyond those on the plane could know anything about who she was, what she'd done, or the baby she carried, or she'd be in real danger—and so would her child, assuming it's ever born.

He finally shook his head. "Chen can keep an eye on her until she delivers—then we'll deal with it. Just do what you must to get her out of here as quickly as possible. Every minute we're together puts her more at risk."

* * *

**New York**

Tracking Catherine the old-fashioned way turned out to be easier than they thought. Her car had been left on the street below one of the taller buildings in the international district. They found her cell phone on the roof near the helipad.

"Dammit! He can't track her in the air!" JT received the news with no amount of calm.

"No. But maybe _we _can. Aircraft leave footprints." Gabe said and got on the phone again.

"If Beasty Bob has her, then what? The man's evaded us for weeks!"

Tess tried for reason. "We found Vincent after he'd been kidnapped. We'll find Cat."

"It took three months! You think he can last that long? I'm beginning to think we need help." His eyes darted to his friend, pacing along the windows in the club.

"The guy that Vincent ran into in the hospital?" Tess asked.

JT lifted his hands. "We're out of options."

* * *

**Catherine**

_Day 6 Since I've Been Counting_

_I know my name is Catherine. Beyond that, I have no idea who I am, where I am or why I'm here. I woke from a peaceful sleep to the nightmare of being pushed out of an airplane (at night!) from a low flying plane. A man named 'Chen' rescued me from my perilous parachute drop and appeared to have been expecting me, but he rarely talked and never smiled, so I can't think that we were ever friends. My head still pounds occasionally, so I assume my inability to recall recent events is due to that. I must have hit it at some point in the not-too-distant past. One side still feels tender.  
_  
_After hiding my parachute, Chen provided me coarse clothing and a large straw hat, then burned my other things before dragging me across this dirt-poor countryside for days. When we neared a population center, I took my first opportunity to escape him and have been running ever since. God knows how I'll survive or where I am, but I didn't trust him. They're obviously hiding me from someone or something, but I can't tell the good guys from the bad. So I'm going it alone.  
_  
_As trains filled with what looked like migrant workers passed through the town, I left him in the night, taking only this notebook and pen, and jumped onto one of them. I don't know if he'll find me, but it couldn't be an easy task, as I now look like everyone else. Well, except that I'm pregnant._

_And that's the worst part of all. Because I don't even remember how I got this way._

_I must be a hundred miles away from where I dropped, now, by a rough estimate of how long we traveled. For the most part, the natives have ignored me, except for one older woman who seems to take every opportunity to yell at me. She is hostile, but so far hasn't gotten physical. I don't think she likes the fact that I'm pregnant, but what can I do about it? I'm tired and I'm hungry and I don't really care.  
_  
_Last night we stopped on the outskirts of another town, this one surrounded by miles and miles of rice fields. It was then I realized I may have made a big mistake. Getting away from this place will not be easy . . . ._

* * *

**Vincent**

Vincent stood for a long time on the porch looking into the apartment. He had a key, but hadn't used it. There was something about going inside and feeling the emptiness that would make it all too real. But he'd waited long enough. She'd been gone a week. Maybe there were clues here that the others had overlooked. Twisting the key in the lock, he slowly slid the door open and stepped into the darkness. "Where are you, Catherine?"

Flipping on lights as he roamed the apartment, he scanned each room. Finally, he stood before the bedroom. Just then, he heard a noise at the front door. His first glimpse of a dark-haired, dark-eyed female with almond-shaped eyes entering the apartment had his mind playing tricks on him. Catherine! But as Heather came farther into the light, he deflated.

"Oh! I didn't realize you were here."

"Just checking on things," Vincent said.

"Oh, of course. Me, too. Actually, I came to get the last of my things. There's still no word?" She looked at him somberly.

He shook his head.

"You know, I can see you're clearly upset about my sister, and I believe you truly care about her. But don't think I don't know you've all been lying to me."

His head came up. "What?"

"I don't buy the story that Cat was suddenly pulled away on some hush-hush assignment. It sounds like a lot of bull crap to me. I'm sure they don't do that to someone on their way to their own wedding! I mean, what could be that important? I'm sorry," she said immediately, realizing how that sounded. "If you're not a part of the lies, you must be just as frustrated as I. You're a victim here, too."

So she knew they were lying to her, but at least this time she didn't blame _him_. It was a story for Heather's benefit, no one else. The rest of them were still in panic mode.

"I mean, they'd tell us if she was dead, wouldn't they?"

She started to crumble and Vincent pulled her into his arms. "She's not dead." His voice broke. "She can't be." After a few moments he released her and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm moving in with a friend," she sniffed. "I'm here to stay and I won't give up looking, but I . . . I need to step away from the situation. I can't just sit around and do nothing. I found a job upstate that sounds promising. If I get it, I'll take it." Her shoulders drooped. "I feel so powerless."

"I'm going to find her."

She nodded. "I believe you. If anyone can, it's you. And when you do, I'll be back. But until then . . . ."

"I understand."

She went into the second bedroom and came out with a small box of things. At the door, she reached out for him again. They held each other for a long moment before she finally let go, a glimmer of tears in her eyes.

She nodded and so did he. Words were insignificant. She handed him her key, and then she was gone.

Vincent, now emotionally distraught, headed once again to the bedroom. _Their _room. Where they'd loved and laughed and dreamed of a future as a normal couple. They'd come so close to having it! Suddenly, he felt exhausted beyond bearing. Where was she? And _how _was she? An image of Catherine, heavy with child, dared to invade his mind. He moaned and bent down onto the coverlet.

Through the layers of fabric he felt the jagged dips and angles of the shredded mattress beneath. She'd never replaced it, claiming she wouldn't know how to explain it to a moving crew—why the mattress had deep grooves carved into it on either side of center—grooves he'd made with his own nails shortly after he'd returned and didn't have the control of his animal side that he had now. Little that it mattered. Now he _longed _for those days.

He laid his head on the pillow and breathed in the last traces of her scent. Then curled up and cried.

* * *

**Catherine**

_Day 14 Since I've Been Counting_

T_here is no escape from the relentless heat, but I've found my body adjusting to it and the back-breaking labor. I seem better fed and stronger than many of the poor young women who are here. It makes me wonder, yet again, where I'm from and why they sent me here._

T_he daily rains bring a measure of relief from the heat, but not from the questions in my own mind: Who am I? Where am I? Who was Chen, and where was he taking me?_

_I don't know the language, but it sounds Chinese. I pretend to be mute and stupid— the one suggestion Chen gave me that made any kind of sense. They treat me like an outcast, but since I work hard, they tolerate me. My day is filled from sun up to sun down transplanting seedlings from one field into another. I'm beginning to hate rice._

_Day 26 Since I've Been Counting_

_'Scolding Woman' is a constant thorn in my side. Today she knocked down my basket and made me the object of more scorn and extra vigilance by what appears to be the local overlord. I had to scramble to make up time, but I did it. I've only seen the overlord up close once. He ignores me like the others when we are all together, but I've caught him watching me at times._

_The bright spot this day was when one of the younger females showed me kindness, offering a portion of her water. I think she feels sorry for me, laboring as all the rest but with my growing belly making it increasingly more difficult. I can tell she wants to ask me about the baby, but even if I could speak the language, how could I tell her what I myself don't even know?_

_I had a flash of memory today when a bird flew overhead startling me with its cry: running through a tunnel as an on-coming train bore down on me. And then strong arms that carried me to safety. A savior with mysterious, dark-lashed eyes. I hope tonight to dream about him again, but I have no idea if he's friend or foe._

_I'm grateful for these moments to rest and eat, but they are always too short. I exist in a near constant state of exhaustion, so I will close for now and hide this small journal underneath the rock near where I sleep. There's something comforting about it, familiar. I'd like to explore that thought more, but morning comes too quickly . . . ._

* * *

**New York**

"Daws!" Vincent pounded on the door.

"Looks like he isn't home. Maybe we should go."

"He's here. It just takes him a while. JT, this was your idea. Now you're questioning it?"

"I just don't know if exposing ourselves to ex-Muirfield people is the best route to take."

"Not all of them were Muirfield. Some may be ex-FBI."

"Whatever!"

"C'mon, JT. We need their help. We've waited too long as it is. And Catherine's trail is growing cold."

Tess was tired of the arguing; they'd been going round and round on this for days. She shoved between the men and pounded again. The door opened immediately.

"Wow. Hell-_o_. What can I do for you, pretty lady?"

"Daws, shut up."

"Vincent! You've brought friends?"

"Special friends. Mind if we come in?"

"Uh . . . ."

"It's okay. We're all . . . in the know."

"Oh. Right. Even Gorgeous here?" He glanced over at Tess again. "First Catherine, now this lovely lady. How many other beautiful females do you know?"

"There's another," Tess said. "But she's definitely not your type."

"And already spoken for." Vincent added.

"Bummer."

Vincent pushed through the open door. "We need to talk."

"Catherine is missing? _Your _Catherine? Catherine, Reynolds' daughter, who is preg—"

"_Yes_." Vincent cut him off. Just hearing it out loud was painful enough. "And we believe Reynolds has her. We tracked a plane out of New York, but it never showed up at its destination. He's off the grid and we're losing valuable time. Do you have anything that would help? Access to records, servers?"

"Anything related to Dear Old Bob?" JT added.

"For one thing," Dawson said, a hand to his jaw. "Reynolds never follows a flight plan he submits. That's a given. He has contacts worldwide, though, so he could have headed anywhere the wind blows."

"Great." JT threw his hands up in the air. "What did I tell you? This is a colossal waste of time."

"And you are?"

"Oh, uh. JT Forbes, bio-chemistry professor." He offered his hand, but Dawson ignored it.

"Ha!"

"Ha? What does that even mean?"

"It means, my good man, that all is not lost." Dawson pursed his lips, considering. "Reynolds has regular re-fueling stops he uses. We could check surveillance cameras in those locations—I assume you have a description of the plane?—see if we can find where it landed. Satellite footage may also be available."

"That's more than we have so far." Vincent sighed a breath of relief.

"The others are in the back room. Let me take you there and we'll see what we can do."

He led them down a hallway to another set of doors. Opening the right one, he nodded for Tess to precede him. "And what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," she said with a smirk, and felt JT bristle beside her.

Daws took them into an inner room, this one loud with server noise. A man stepped forward.

"Kai, these are the 'friends' I told you about. They need our help." Turning to Vincent, he said, "Kai is our cultural attaché, among other things. He's an experienced field agent specializing in linguistics and martial arts."

Kai bowed but offered no hand in greeting.

"And behind him, buried in that computer, is our brilliant earth-sciences professor—"

"_Sara?!_" As the woman in the white lab coat turned, JT's eyes popped out of his head and he stepped forward.

"You two know each other?" Dawson asked.

"Oh, my God. JT! What are you doing here?"

"I-I could ask you the same thing!"

Vincent put a hand on JT. "Wait. This is _Sara _Sara? _Your _Sara? From the university?"

"Wait," Tess said. "Who's Sara?"

"How long have you been involved in this?" JT demanded, completely avoiding Tess's question.

Sara took off her glasses and carefully set them on the desk before replying. "Long before I met you. Reynolds tapped me as a student-intern years ago. I had debt up the ying-yang. But thanks to Dawson, here, I got out when everything fell apart. I'm primarily a researcher now.

"She's too modest. We've leaned heavily on her expertise over the years. She's also our computer guru now. Can handle just about anything we throw at her."

"Perfect. Please help us find Catherine."

* * *

**Catherine**

_Day 42 Since I've Been Counting_

_I've now been here over a month. I can feel the baby moving regularly, even as I work. It is a happy feeling to me, knowing that there's someone here who belongs to only me. I pray that my baby will remain healthy and survive until delivery, even though the conditions here are hard and food is minimal. Since I can't think of escape at this point, my only goal is to make make it until then. I have no one else.  
_  
M_y guess is that I'm around five months along. Four more months until I have this baby. And then what?_

_My thoughts drift often to the father, but I can visualize no face. Is he Asian, like me? Somehow I think not. Does he wonder where I am? Does he look for me? When the questions overwhelm, I get another headache and lay them aside. I want to believe there is someone searching for me, someone who wants me back. Who cares whether I live or die. But I am afraid to believe._

_My days are filled with back-breaking work, but the nights are worse. I dream. The images don't make sense: tall buildings, honking cars, a park in the snow, and a man with gruesome, animal teeth. It's always the same—different images but the same animal-man._

_Did I see something I wasn't supposed to see? Someone? There are no answers; only more questions. I close my eyes and wait for morning. Then start all over again . . ._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_They met on the battlefield, banner in hand  
They looked out across the vacant land  
And they counted the missing, one upon one, none upon none  
The war, it was over, before it begun…  
__-from Zor and Zam (by Bill Chadwick and John Chadwick)_

**New York  
**  
"So . . . are we going to talk about it?" Tess followed JT from one computer to the next as he checked the logs from the night before. It was her habit, these days, to stop in at the club in the morning to see if there was any news. She usually brought him coffee. Vincent was either out or still abed.

"About what?" JT asked, distracted.

She turned his swivel chair around. "The elephant in the room—who is _not _Vincent. And that's not a disparaging remark about anyone's size."

He gave her one of those JT stares.

"Sara! I seem to remember Cat telling me one time that you two had dated."

"Emphasis on past tense." He turned back around and ignored her.

"C'mon, JT. I don't know why you're so embarrassed. She's cute. She's smart."

"I'm not embarrassed. I just don't want to discuss it with . . . you. And she's not just someone I dated. She's former _Muirfield _for God's sake—or-or Reynolds and Company. Whatever! I'm still trying to wrap my brain around that."

"So? Vincent worked for Reynolds. So did Daws, and Kai. So did Cat's mom."

"Yeah. Look where that got her."

"But that's all in the past. Sara got out. You heard what Daws said. They escaped and now they're trying to right the wrongs the organization did. She was a good person trapped there and hating it. Now, she's one more person helping us. I thought you'd be celebrating."

"She lied to me."

"Really? That's what you're upset about. Like that's never happened before around here! Cat lied to me for a _year_, JT. And while that really hurt, I understood why when I finally learned the truth. She was protecting me."

He walked over to the other computer and she followed him. "That's what you were doing with Sara. You broke up with her to protect her."

"Actually, she broke up with me."

"And you let it happen because you believed that was best for her. Instead, she was protecting you."

He threw his hands in the air, finally giving her his full attention. "What do you want me to do?"

Tess sighed. "I'm just thinking you didn't break up with Sara because you wanted to."

"That's right. After Gabe tried to eat me for a snack I realized I was only putting her in danger by being with her. It wasn't going to work."

"And now you're both free of that. You're free to have a relationship again."

He shook his head at her, dumbfounded. "What about _us?_"

"What do you mean, what about us?"

"You and me—I-I thought we had a . . . a thing going on, you know? Now you're pushing some other woman on me."

"No, I'm not. And that's not just 'some other woman.' That's the woman you cared enough about to take her roses on Valentine's Day. Yes, I heard about that, too. I'm just," she sighed. "I don't want us to be a 'thing' simply because there were no other choices. I want there to be an 'us' only if it's real."

"That last kiss—it felt pretty real to me. So did the other one—" When she simply looked at him, he gave up. "You were the one who said I wasn't your type—"

"You're not."

"And truth be told, you're not mine, but what if we don't know ourselves as well as we thought we did? What if you and I are better together than we are apart? What if _that's_ the reality?"

"All I'm saying is, you owe it to yourself and to Sara to finish exploring what you started. Neither one of you walked away because you wanted to. And while that question is still out there, it hangs over my head. You want me? You have to be all in. And if you have doubts . . . ."

"So . . . what? You think we should date other people just to figure out if what we have is real? That makes no sense at all." He went back to his computer.

"I think you should make sure your old relationship is really over before starting a new one."

With that, Tess picked up her jacket and left.

* * *

"I got a hit." Kai bent over his keyboard, furiously typing.

Gabe turned. "Reynolds?"

"Yep. I've been running through satellite images of airports all along the Atlantic seaboard from months ago."

"And?" Both Dawson and Gabe leaned over the console for a better look.

"I found this. Canary Islands. It's a match." Kai pulled up an image of a plane. "See the call letters?"

"What's the date stamp?" Gabe asked, a level of excitement stealing into his voice.

"Two days after they disappeared."

"That makes sense. Can you track it from there? Figure out where he went next?"

"Should be able to. And there's video."

"There is?" Gabe picked up his cell phone.

"Hey, is that secure?" Daws frowned at him.

"Of course. Yeah, JT? Vincent around? Kai just got a hit on Reynolds' plane—from two days after Catherine disappeared. Why don't you both meet us over here? I'll call the others."

A half hour later, both guys plus Tess and Tori filed into the tiny room that had become their home away from home.

"So what does this tell us?" Vincent asked.

"They were probably refueling," Gabe said. "Then they filed a flight plan from there to France."

JT crossed his arms. "But we know he most likely didn't go to France."

"No, but this gives us a place to start."

"What does the video show?" Vincent again.

"Sara?" Kai called to her at the other computer.

"Got it. One sec." She keyed in some commands and brought a link up to Kai's screen, avoiding JT's curious glance.

"I wanted to confirm it first," Kai told the group leaning over his shoulder. "Some local politician just happened to have flown in at the same time. News footage captured Reynolds' plane landing in the background. Look, when we zoom in you can clearly see it's his. Then we found this – an airport surveillance camera from almost the same angle. Taken together, we can literally watch the plane from the moment it landed to the time it took off."

"Which was when?"

"Looks like two days later. But that's not the frustrating part. Catherine doesn't appear to be with them when they landed. She never came off the plane."

"Maybe she stayed on it," Tess suggested.

"No. The plane was locked up tight. No one went in or out."

"Reynolds must have had some business there to have stayed two days." It was Gabe's turned to theorize.

"Yes. But we don't know what."

"Find out where he went next. Reynolds knows where Catherine is. If we find him; we can find her."

Vincent looked at JT. It was the first real lead they'd hand in months.

* * *

**Catherine **

_Day 87 Since I've Been Counting_

_I'm not sure if my count is correct anymore. The days run into days, and I may have missed a few. It doesn't matter. No one comes. No one knows my name. And it looks like I'm stuck here—at least for the time being—until after the baby comes. Speaking of which, I started to worry about what will happen once he or she is born, but today I may have changed the outcome. The local overlord (whom I refer to in my mind as 'Chip Hat' for the fancy straw hat he wears that has a notch in one side), has had some troubles with a neighboring lord. I don't know the terms they use here or how else to describe it.  
_  
_Anyway, last night the baby was kicking and I awakened to see a group of three men stealing into camp. They appeared to be up to no good, so I crept along behind them to find out what they were doing as they made their way toward Chip Hat's home, the only well-made structure in the area. When I saw the flash of steel, I acted automatically. I jumped one of them from behind, knocking him out with a clay jug and dragging him behind a mud hut. Then I round-housed the second before he could react, and fought with the third, waking Chip Hat and the household in the process. When he saw what I had done to protect them, he brought me inside his house where he, an elderly woman, and two younger women, either wives or daughters, or both, reside. The comforts are better, and one of the younger women is kind to me, but I still feel watched. Should I have risked it? I don't know. All seems fine with the baby, but I'm feeling it tonight. I didn't have a choice. The stranger you know is better than the one you don't. _

_Chip Hat never touches me, though, and for that I am grateful. I think he has his own code of ethics._

* * *

**Reynolds**

"What am I looking at?" Reynolds opened the laptop Butler set in front of him and studied the screen.

"It's of an incident in Mali. An isolated village was decimated last week by what the government is officially referring to as a pack of wild boars, but the locals tell a different story. They say the intruders wore clothing—camouflage—but they weren't soldiers. They acted like animals."

"Allyn?"

"He was rumored to be in the area. But look at the next photograph. That's of a field just past the outskirts of the village."

"Looks like more dead."

"Yes, but those aren't villagers. They're the perpetrators."

"They died? How?"

"They all died within hours of the attack. Natural causes."

"What the—"

"It would appear General Allyn's little zombie army can only live for a short time after being injected with the chemical compound he's feeding them. And another twist - the army was primarily made of up natives. Allyn recruits them, turns them into his agents of doom, then abandons them to their fate. Looks like this was a trial run. He's no doubt using these little incidents to further refine his product."

Reynolds stroked his chin. "They accomplished his purpose then had the grace to up and die. How convenient. No survivors." Bob shut the screen. He'd seen enough. The man had to be stopped, no matter what. It was only time before Allyn took his recruits to a crowded metropolitan area. "How are we coming on the new toxin?"

"We're having . . . issues," Butler said. "There wasn't enough material left from your find. The experiments are progressing, but it's not going well. What we need is another beast. What about the one in New York? I heard Condor was still alive."

Bob curled his hand into a fist. "Too risky. Keller's alive, but they're onto me; he's too protected. And it's far too dangerous to go back to New York."

"Could he be lured out of the city?"

"The man isn't easily 'lured.' He can tell when you're lying."

"Problematic, but not impossible."

Bob didn't answer. He knew what Butler was thinking.

"Sir."

"No."

"If your daughter is pregnant with Keller's child—"

"I said no! And since Chen lost her, we don't exactly know where she is."

Butler waited a beat, but it was obvious Reynolds wouldn't be swayed. He nodded and bowed out of the room. A problem for another day, and easily solved if one had the will. It appeared his boss didn't. He'd planted the seed; it was all he could do.

* * *

**Vincent**

As summer blazed into fall, Vincent found it increasingly difficult to sit around doing nothing. Tess fed him odd jobs when she could, but it wasn't enough. Staring at computer screens for hours on end to find someone was nuts. He didn't have the patience for it.

Rooftops were getting old, too. They didn't have the same appeal without a familiar presence beside him. He traveled the tunnels, instead, their cloying scents and winding passageways distracting him, if nothing else. At least he could rage there and not be heard . . . because Catherine was nearing seven and a half months along. If she was still pregnant. And that was the worst 'if' of all—the not knowing.

Was she alive? Was she well? Had Reynolds experimented on her and their baby? He didn't put anything past that monster of a father.

That night he found himself not in the tunnels but her apartment once again. And in her room. The heat was off. Despite the cold, he lay on the bed panting. He'd shoved the linens aside and opened the windows, willing the cold to freeze his heart—anything to stop its beating. It was the only way to stop the pain.

His only job for ten years had been to watch out for her. Now he was useless. Useless! He grabbed the only remaining pillow on the bed—hers—and violently threw it across the room. It knocked over a lamp, crashing it to the floor, but there was another sound that accompanied it, and he sat up. Something else had flown off the bed with the pillow.

He got up and looked around the room. _There_. A book. As he stared at it with his bleary eyes, he suddenly realized it was a book he'd once owned—a journal—and had thrown away. How was it possible for it to be there?

Vincent walked over and picked it up. Its pages were bent and swollen from water damage it had once sustained, its spine broken and torn, but it was, nevertheless, the very journal he'd kept during the long difficult months of his own journey back from oblivion. His journey back to Catherine.

Disbelief dropped him to the floor where he knelt and leafed through the pages. Yes, the very dairy he'd thrown into the river—but only part. The back half of the book was not written by him, but in Catherine's distinctive hand.

How had she ended up with it? And why had she never told him?

However she'd gotten it, she'd not only read his letters but started penning her own. Page by page, he read her words—to him. The first entry she made was after her recovery from the building collapse. _'Vincent, Sometimes, when I wake up, I can't believe you're here. I turn my head and find your arm around me, where it's been all through the night . . .'_ He couldn't read on. His eyes blurred with tears. She'd trusted him to be there with her, and he wasn't!

He flipped through the book. Her entries were few, but incredibly moving, and always followed a significant event in their relationship. The last one was from May 6. _'Vincent, Today I learned I'm carrying your child.'_ It ended with, _'Yes, I'm terrified. I'm delighted. I'm amazed and filled with doubt. But I know, together, we can do this, if you take my hand . . . .'_

He bent to the floor, his breathing labored. "Oh, God. Oh, God, Catherine! Where are you? _Where are you?!_"

* * *

It was more than a month before they got a second lead. The gang assembled at the club this time to discuss the plan forward.

"It took an act of Congress, but we found him. He's in Munich."

Vincent had no patience with planning and strategy. "Get me on the next plane."

"Oh, I can see that going well," Gabe said. "Do you even have a passport? Bad idea." He crossed his arms at him.

"If I have to swim across the Atlantic, I'll do it. I'm not waiting another day. Find a way to get me there, and fast."

"Bob may be there; that doesn't mean Catherine is."

"But he'll know where she is. It's the only way we can find out," Tess argued.

Vincent thanked her with his eyes. At least she understood the urgency.

"That doesn't mean that Vincent should go. I'll do it. I've still got some tricks up my sleeve. I'll put the fear of God into him and get the information we need. _Without _bloodshed."

It was Vincent's turn to cross his arms. "I'm tired of doing it your way. My way is quicker." He exited the room to go get ready.

Gabe looked to JT. "Can't you stop him?"

"How can I? This is _Catherine _we're talking about. They'll go to the ends of the earth for each other, if you haven't noticed. Epic love and all that crap." He glanced over to Sara at her computer, but she didn't blink.

"But Catherine isn't with her father."

"That we know of."

In the end, it didn't matter, because time was running out. Catherine's due date had come and gone.

* * *

With Gabe's connections and Dawson's resources, they got Vincent credentials and a seat on a non-stop flight the next morning.

Tori, who'd been watching the whole thing play out, finally spoke up. "I'll give you a lift to the airport."

He looked over at her, surprise on his face. She'd been rather subdued for months. "Thanks."

At the crack of dawn they made their way there.

"You don't need to park; just drop me off," Vincent told her, unbuckling his belt.

"No. I want to come in with you. Humor me, okay? I'm as worried as you are."

He let her park.

She pulled into a spot away from the other cars and turned to him. "We're going to find her, Vincent. Catherine and the baby."

"Yeah." It was a not very convincing affirmation.

Tori reached over to give him a hug. "Just not your way," she whispered.

He felt the sting but didn't register, at first, what it was. Then his eyes got really heavy. "Why did you do that?" he managed to ask.

"Because I'm expendable and you're not. And you have a family to live for."

How much he heard, she didn't know. She gently leaned him back in the seat, cracked the windows open, and left. By the time he came to, she'd be in Germany.

* * *

**Catherine**

_There's a voice in my head. It's deep and rough, but comforting at the same time. Sometimes, when I dream, I see his face, but by morning I've forgotten. Again. Each time I get a little bit closer. And each morning I awaken disappointed. Who are you? Where are you?_

_My water broke yesterday morning. I was in the field and didn't realize, at first, what had happened. Then one of the women pointed at me. The labor pains began soon after. Pic, one of the younger women whose name I learned, helped me get back to the house and stayed with me the entire time._

_I've never felt such pain in my life. Pic tried to comfort me with her words, a few of which I've learned now, but it was the voice in my head sustaining me. _'Keep fighting. For us. For me,'_ he said. _'I just got you back. I'm not about to lose you again . . . So you fight, Catherine. I need you.'

_I fought through the night. Fought for the man with the mysterious voice. And fought for the child I now believe to be his. Our child. Our daughter—a little girl with dark hair and eyes that don't look like mine.  
_  
_Whoever you are, wherever you are: please find me. Find __**us**__._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Munich**

Tori Windsor studied the small airfield for several hours before deciding on her plan. Thanking her jet-setting mother for giving her an international education, albeit from the confines of their home, she was able to at least comprehend most of the signage and conversations around her. It was a simple thing from there to play the part of visiting American actress and ask for a tour. She only needed to get near the plane. Once in the vicinity, she could discern and memorize the scent of those who'd been around it, namely Reynolds. And follow it right to him.

* * *

"It's worthless. We've already tried several variations on the recruits we caught last week. Nothing. They died of natural causes just like the others. None of them reverted."

Bob Reynolds listened to Butler's acerbic report and ran his hands across his face. "What else can we try? And don't say, 'nothing.' I won't accept that as an answer. I can't."

Butler sat on the edge of the desk, an annoying and slightly arrogant habit he'd picked up over the years. He knew he didn't like it—which was why he did it.

"Then perhaps it's time to reconsider Keller. Without beast blood, we're dead in the water. And that may not be figuratively. If we don't stop Allyn and his zombie-beast army, it isn't going to matter one way or another. We're all dead. And Catherine, too. He'll be unstoppable."

Tori froze outside the nondescript office suite, her ears tuned to the conversation in the room. She'd tracked Reynolds to the building and had been just about to enter when she'd picked up the conversation emanating from an inner room.

Reynolds and another man were talking. They needed beast blood? Or everyone would die, including Catherine? She swiftly stepped around the corner when she heard one of them head out the door. Thankfully, it wasn't Reynolds. She waited a beat before returning to her post. The rooms were silent. He might now be alone.

She contemplated the best move. Catch him now and threaten him, or was there another way? If he was prepared and tranqed her, everything would be for naught. She needed a plan. She needed a bargaining chip. She headed back into the streets of Munich. She had to think through everything carefully before deciding to act. If she came back empty-handed, Vincent would never forgive her.

She jogged over a couple of streets. It would do no good for him or any of his minions to spot her, that was for sure. Ahead of her, a sandwich board with the sign of a cross on it sat in front of some sort of community building. She studied the words. If she understood correctly, it was for a mobile blood donation center. An idea formed. She headed to the building.

* * *

"Where'd she go?" A male nurse asked another, having just returned from checking patients on the other side of the room.

"Who?"

"The stunning redhead. She was on this table a few minutes ago."

"Didn't see her, man. Maybe she chickened out. Or, no. She took one look at your ugly mug and ran like hell."

"Ha ha," said the first man. "She was nearly done. She must have finished and didn't stay for treats. But where's the blood?"

The other guy shrugged. "I didn't see her, bro. I think you're losing it. Oh, wait. You already did!"

"Very funny." He frowned. Just what he needed. An idiot co-worker and someone with a vampire fetish. And here he'd been about to ask the beauty for her number. He stormed off to the other side of the room again.

* * *

Tori returned to the office building, the soft packet of her own blood tucked into her jacket. It was still warm. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Reynolds was still there by himself. She took a breath and knocked on the door. As soon as he opened it, he backed up, his hands in the air.

"Hey, hey, hey. I'm unarmed."

"Good for me. Too bad for you."

"What do you want, Windsor? I have no beef with you. I'm just here on business."

"Beast business, from the sounds of it. And I have a 'beef' with you. Who is this Allen guy, and w_here the hell is Catherine?_"

He eyed her over his glasses. "Why don't you have a seat? You obviously want something. So do I."

"I'm not here to make deals. Give me what I want or I tear your heart and of your chest and stuff it down your throat."

He swallowed. "All right, there's no need for violence. But hear me out, first. There are things you need to know. I'm telling you the truth when I say I don't know exactly where she is."

"That's bull!"

"We put her in a safe place—safe for her—and had a man watching her, but she escaped him, okay? She's very capable, as you well know."

"Good for Catherine. How far? I don't need specifics, just a general direction. If she's here in Munich, I can find her. But you'd better start talking because if I don't come back with her—and fast—you're a dead man."

"That may be a little difficult."

"Why's that?"

"Because she's not on this continent."

"_What?_"

"There's a man, goes by the name of General Allyn, who's resurrecting a beast brigade. An army of beasts."

"Competition. huh? Not unlike what you tried to do."

"Very different from what I tried to do. This man doesn't care about human life. He just wants power. And he's willing to use his army to get it. I'm here to stop him. Catherine got in the way, and because Allyn's plan could threaten her, too, I sent her somewhere for her own safety. Somewhere very far away."

"_How _far?!"

"If I don't stop this man, we're all doomed."

"I could really care less. Start talking."

"I need something in return."

"You want my blood."

"Not all of it."

She laughed. "Good to know."

"The best I can do is give you her last known coordinates. You can see it marked on my computer. I haven't had an opportunity to disguise it, so you can believe me. In fact, I want her found as much as you do. I don't like not knowing where she is, especially with this threat hanging over us."

"And you can solve it with my blood?"

"We can try. It's the best shot we have. Allyn's building an army using a synthesized version of beast blood, but it kills the host. We think we can create a neutralizing toxin. Look, we both win, and no one gets hurt."

"If I can trust you. Which I can't."

He shrugged. "It's all I've got."

"If you think I'm lying down on a table for you, you're not as smart as I thought."

"I don't need much. You'll be out of here in less than an hour."

He checked his watch, no doubt waiting for his comrade to return. Tori took a deep breath. It was now or never. She pulled the soft pouch out of her jacket and dangled it before him. "Lucky for you, I came already prepared. Give me Catherine's location and you can have it. But you'd better tell me the truth, because I can tell if you're lying."

His eyes seized on the pouch. Yes, he wanted it.

"Deal." He turned the monitor toward her. It displayed a world map. On it, a bunch of red dots were scattered throughout Africa. And then one tiny green one—half way around the world.

"Cambodia? You sent your daughter to _Cambodia?_"

He scribbled numbers on a piece of paper and held it out. "These are her last known coordinates." When she started to reach for it, he pulled it back. "The blood. How do I know it's yours?"

"You don't. And I don't know if those numbers will help me find her. I guess we're both going to have to trust each other."

He hesitated a cool second longer, then held out the paper. "You've got a trade."

* * *

**New York  
**  
Gabe clicked off his cell phone and wheeled over to where Kai and Sara sat in front of their computers studying the screens. It was everyone's after-hours hang-out these days. "Can you get access to satellite imagery over southwest Cambodia?"

Vincent heard the request and walked over to them. "Why? What is it?"

"That was Tori. She got a beat on Catherine from Reynolds. Seems he stashed her somewhere for her own 'protection,'—whatever that means. She just sent the GPS coordinates, but it's a big area. We still have our work cut out for us."

_Like finding a needle in a haystack in a field of haystacks._ Vincent frowned and studied the map. But that was a lot smaller area than they'd had before.

"Tori's on her way back," Gabe told the room in general, but nodding to Blaise. "Daws, what do you know about a guy named Allen?"

"Allen what?"

"No, last name of Allen."

"James McMasterson Allyn?" Sara asked, her eyes big and round.

"Could be. Is he a general?"

"Is he a threat?" JT asked.

Daws and Sara exchanged glances, then she turned around and started typing furiously into her computer.

* * *

Exhausted after a long day, one by one each headed home to their beds. Sara waited for the right moment, then approached. "JT?"

He swung around. Tess had already left for the night. "Uh hi. Sara."

"Yes, that's my name."

"I-I mean, I know that's your name."

"You haven't changed." When he didn't respond, she tried again. "I meant that in a good way. But I suppose—in your eyes—I have."

He looked everywhere but at her. "Nah. It's just . . . strange, seeing you here, that's all."

There was an awkward silence, then they both spoke at once. "Can we talk—"

"I need to talk to you—"

The both laughed.

"Sorry. You first," JT said, finally.

She squinted at him, that mysterious smile that he used to think was so engaging. "How about coffee? Decaf, of course."

JT pressed his lips together and grinned. It was how they'd first met. "Coffee sounds good . . . ."

* * *

Tori arrived home eighteen hours later. She greeted Blaise at home first, then told him she needed to get to the club or wherever the gang presently was.

"You're exhausted. Can't it wait?"

She shook her head. "Not this time. I need to talk to Vincent."

They caught him at the after-hours clinic just about to head out the door for some much needed shut-eye. As soon as he opened the door and saw her, he grabbed her by the collar and yanked her inside.

"Hey!" Blaise yelled over the growling both of them were doing. Everyone else jumped out of their seats and scampered to the far corners of the room.

It was the first time Blaise had seen either of them transform, but as terrified as he was for himself, he was more worried for his girlfriend. He attacked. "Get your hands off of her!" he shouted and jumped on Vincent from behind.

"Watch the equipment!" Daws yelled. The trio crashed into a table as Vincent tried in vain to shake Blaise off.

"Tori, get this pea-brain off me before I have him for a snack. Or worse."

"Oh, stop it. Your threats don't scare me." Shoved up against the table, she nevertheless craned her head around him, eyes glowing like hot embers. "Blaise, Baby, I got this. Really. It's a little insulting to know you think I can't hold my own against Godzilla here." When he didn't let go, she tried again. "I mean it. He won't hurt me. He's all bark and bluster."

Blaise finally slackened his grip and Vincent flung him across the room like a rag doll.

"Hey!" Tori screamed. She grabbed a handful of hair and he capitulated by threw her through a door to a back room. It swung closed behind them.

Finally out of view of everyone else and in a relatively safe space, Vincent shoved her up against another wall in a stranglehold. "Don't ever do that to me again!" he growled.

"What? Save your sorry hide?" She flung him away and took up an offensive stance. They were both circling and panting. "Idiot! I care about her, too! And I care about _you_. Doesn't it matter that I got the information you needed? Without bloodshed, I might add. I thought you'd be proud of me for that!"

"You just waltzed into Reynolds' lair, politely asked him where Catherine was, and he told you? And you call _me _an idiot!"

"I had a plan and it worked. I got the coordinates. That's all that should matter!"

Vincent dropped his hands, deflated. "And I'm extremely grateful. But at what cost, Tori? What cost? If he had gotten hold of you . . . ."

She looked at the floor a moment before lifting her eyes. "Does it really matter? We struck a deal we could both live with. I'm sorry I tranqed you, Vincent, I really am. But you and Catherine mean more to me than—than—"

"Hey." He pulled her into his arms, his anger completely dissipated at her tears. What she'd done, she'd done out of love. He got it. He wasn't happy about it, but he got it. After a moment he leaned her away from him and looked into her eyes. "How about this? We make a truce—agree to work _together _from now on?"

She nodded and her tears spilled over onto her cheeks. He rubbed some of them away with his thumb.

"Okay. Now let's get back in there before Blaise takes matters into his own hands and hurts somebody. Because I'm seriously afraid of that guy."

She laughed and swatted him. "Don't you ever call him a pea-brain again. He's incredibly smart."

"And hard-headed."

Just then they heard shouts from the other room and ran in to see what was up. Pushing through the bodies blocking the display, Vincent came to a halt. On the large monitor in the center of the room was an image that nearly dropped him to his knees. Dressed as a lowly peasant complete with a straw, saucer-type hat, Catherine stood in the middle of a rice field, her face turned to the sky in a questioning gaze.

"With the coordinates Tori provided, I was able to narrow the search to satellite images of the region. Unbelievably, this is one of the first to pop up. Had she not turned her head at that very moment, we would never have captured her face."

"From how long ago?" Gabe asked.

"Earlier this week."

Daws was the first to voice his doubts. "Are we certain it's her? I mean, the image is a little grainy. She looks like any other woman of Chinese descent."

"Are you kidding me? Look at those toned arms," Tess said. "That's _Cat!_"

"Zoom in on her hand, if you can, Kai," Gabe directed him. "Looks like there's something shiny—"

"Yes. A ring. On her thumb. Does that look familiar to anyone?"

Oh yes, it was familiar. Achingly familiar. "It's a gold band," Vincent said, shocked and amazed at the same time. "A wedding band." _His _ring! The ring she no doubt had on her the day she disappeared—the day they were to have been married. "Get me on a plane, Gabe. _Yesterday!_" His eyes moved to Tori to warn her not to disagree, but she was nodding and crying happy tears.

"Sir," Kai stood and turned, his smooth Korean features making him look much younger than he was. Having never seen a beast rage before—at least not one that was loose—his knees shook, but he held his ground. He looked Vincent in the eye. "Let me go. I speak the language. I fit it. I can get in and get out without anyone the wiser. And I'll bring her back to you, I promise."

Seeing the look on Vincent's face, Dawson moved between them, a gentle hand to Kai's chest. "Yes, but Vincent goes, too."

Vincent thanked him with his eyes, then turned back to the image of the most beautiful woman on earth. _Catherine._

In the middle of the triumphant shouts and high-fives all around him, Vincent was also the first to see what everyone else had missed, and the knowledge seemed to make the floor fall away beneath him. She was as slender as she'd been when she left him, so long ago.

* * *

**Cambodia**

Catherine wiped her brow and stood, straightening her back. She fared better than most with the labor-intensive work, but it took its toll, even on her. She rubbed her lower back then smoothed a hand down her flattened belly. It was amazing how quickly her body had returned to its pre-pregnant state. With nursing the baby, her spare food rations and the sixteen-hour workdays, she'd quickly lost what little weight she'd put on.

She brushed a hand over the dark, fuzzy hair of her newborn, neatly swaddled in a crudely fashioned basket at her feet and shaded with long palm fronds. She'd had no way to accurately measure, but from the size of her, Abby was right around six pounds wet, she figured. A healthy weight, if small, and not unusual for that region by the size of the general populous.

Pic, whom she was learning to communicate with by broken words and lots of hand signals, watched the baby the second half of the day and even helped at night. Catherine believed she'd had a child of her own at one time and lost it. It happened more often than not to these poor, malnourished women, she was certain.

She smiled, grateful beyond words to have made it through not only a difficult delivery but to have a healthy, beautiful child. She couldn't help bending down and brushing her lips and eyelashes over the infant's petal soft skin. Now, if she could just figure out how to get home—wherever home was . . . .

* * *

It was evening when they heard the chopper blades. Catherine caught the familiar thud-thud-thud of the aircraft before it came over the hill just after twilight. She craned her head around, but nothing in the dark sky was visible yet. Finishing up in the far field, her first thought was that Chen had finally found her, and thanked God Abigail was safely stowed in the house with Pic and not in the field with her. If he grabbed her, she could be certain Abby would be well cared for until she got back. Better that Chen and whoever he worked for never knew she'd had the baby.

The violent sway of trees along the ridge caught her eye just as the dark aircraft came up over the hill. She stood, daring him to see her. That any of these people would be hurt because of her was unthinkable, and not something she would allow in order to hide.

"Put it down and shut it off!" Vincent shouted over the roar of the chopper. Kai picked a flat, dry spot on the top of a small ridge and did as told, although he started to argue.

"How will you find her?" he yelled as Vincent was already leaping out of the vehicle and starting to run.

"I'll find her!" he called back. Kai unbuckled himself, grabbed his gear, and ran to keep up.

Women were spread out across the fields and many others congregated close to the house at the bottom of the hill. From this distance, they all looked the same. Vincent came to an abrupt halt and closed his eyes, his senses on high alert. He could do this. He could _do _it. He _had _to do it. "Catherine, where are you?" he murmured. And then he heard it—a familiar heartbeat, rapid with tension. He turned. A lone woman stood half a field away, her spine straight, her hair sun-tinted and blowing in the in the fading light, and longer than he remembered. _Catherine!_

Catherine saw the tall man leap from the chopper, and another after him, but in the dim light couldn't make out his face. From his height, he didn't appear to be Chen, but perhaps it was one of his henchmen. A very large and ominous looking henchman. Then he turned and looked straight at her. Recognition! Fear like she'd never felt flooded her veins. So much for blending in! She heard him shout, then start running toward her. The urge to flee overcame her and she ran—in the opposite direction of the house.

She was afraid to look back, when she heard his boots thudding across the grass, gaining on her, she turned. And saw his face. She dropped to her knees in fear. "No!" It was the monster from her nightmares.

The minute he put his hands on her, she rallied. And fought. With everything she had. Whatever he was capable of or had planned for her, she'd at least go down fighting. She sent a grateful prayer heavenward for the safety of her baby, then kicked and punched with all her might. She never felt the blow, but something hit her and she dissolved into darkness.

"What did you do that for?!" Vincent shouted at Kai, his teammates' hand still on the tranquilizer gun.

"We can't waste time fighting with her! They're already headed for the chopper. Pick her up and run! We have to get out of here before they call for reinforcements. I saw a military unit a couple miles up the road."

Vincent looked down at the woman in his arms. He wanted to linger, let her recover gently, and talk to her. But more than anything, he wanted to get her home. He picked her up and ran.

Catherine didn't wake until they had her on the return flight to New York.

Vincent hadn't left her side. He'd refused to even let go of her hand the entire trip, but now slept peacefully in the chair, his head at an awkward angle on the edge of her small bed. The rear compartment of the private luxury jet had been turned into a mini hospital room. Tiny blips on the monitor attached to patches on her body relayed her vitals, but everything was calm.

When Kai checked on them and found Vincent asleep, he strong-armed him into the bed in the next compartment and strapped him in for his own safety. Then he returned to the sleeping woman. After a while, she blinked and started glancing around the room, confused.

She tried to speak, but her voice wouldn't cooperate. He immediately put a straw to her lips. "Here. Water."

She stared at him with big, round eyes. Disheveled and drug-hazed, he could still see what a beauty she was. Judging from the reaction of the man-beast in the other bed, she was also a treasure he couldn't live without. Kai smoothed the hair back from her face. "You're safe, Catherine. Safe."

At the mention of her name, her eyes grew even larger. "Who . . . are you? Where's Chen?" she managed. Her eyes darted everywhere around the compartment.

"Chen?" Kai asked, confused. "I don't know any Chen, but—"

"Catherine?" Vincent filled the door frame.

Catherine took one look at his face and screamed bloody murder.

Catherine fought so hard, she ripped the IV out of her arm and it started to bleed. She kicked Kai away from her in her scramble to retreat to the farthest corner of the space.

"What the hell?" Kai fought arms and legs trying to gently wrangle her down, to no avail.

"Catherine, it's me," Vincent said, trying to move in closer. "Sweetheart, it's okay. You're safe."

She screamed again, bit Kai's arm, and this time managed to grab hold of everything not nailed down and threw it their direction.

"Catherine!" Vincent yelled again, and had to duck to avoid being hit in the head.

Finally, Kai sneaked around behind her when she turned and jabbed her with a sedative. Vincent caught her fall.

Horrified by the look of fear she'd given him, Vincent placed her gingerly upon the bed once again. "What was that all about?"

"I don't know, but we need to keep her sedated until we land or she's going to hurt not only us but herself."

Vincent didn't like it, but he agreed. They would land soon enough.

* * *

**New York**

It was Dawson who saw her awaken the next time. He leaned over her and smiled. "Hey, pretty lady. Do you remember me?"

She looked perplexed for a moment. "D-Daws?"

"That's right!" He checked his instruments. "Glad to have you back."

"Where am I?" She turned her head to study the room. It looked vaguely familiar.

"Home. Well, our after-hours clinic, anyway. Remember this place? We did an ultrasound here in this very room."

She stared a moment, then grew increasingly agitated. She searched the room again, a panicked look in her eyes.

"What is it, Catherine? You're safe. You can relax. Your friends will be here shortly. I called them. Everyone is anxious to see you. As soon as you're able, I'll call them in, okay? Do you think you can eat something?"

She scanned the room again, this time frantic. Then she focused back on his face. "Dawson?"

"Yes, Catherine?"

"_Where the hell is my baby?!_"

* * *

"Wait." Daws put a hand on Vincent's chest. Not that he could have held him back if Vincent didn't cooperate. "You can't just barge in there."

"The hell I can't! You heard what she said!"

"Of course I did. But listen, Kai told me the way she reacted to you. I've seen this before. That's Reynolds' doing. He must have placed some suggestions in her mind—that you are the enemy—or something ugly like that. She doesn't trust you right now and her vitals are off the charts. We need to get her calmed down again."

"No more drugs!"

"No. No more drugs. But you can't go in there. Not yet."

"But what about the baby?"

"That could be another one of Reynolds' subliminals. When you grabbed her, she didn't have a baby with her, right?"

"No, but—"

"For all we know, she's confused about that, too. Look." He squeezed Vincent's shoulder. "I don't believe she's had a total memory wipe. She remembered me, she remembered this room. She's exhibiting classic symptoms of a level 1 memory block."

"What does that mean?"

"Very different from what you endured. It means it can easily be reversed. With time. But only if she remains calm. Kind of like your adrenalin reaction, panic kicks things into high gear." When he saw that Vincent wasn't going to fight him, he took a breath. "A simple exam should be able to confirm whether she delivered a child or not. I'm guessing she lost it and that memory just came to the forefront of her mind when I mentioned the ultrasound. It will be okay. Trust me. Just give me a little time with her. She's safe. That's all that matters."

"How do I get her back, Daws?" he asked, his voice laced with pain, and Dawson knew he was speaking of Catherine, not the baby, this time.

He put a hand on his shoulder. "Be patient. Give her time. And you'll just have to get her to fall in love with you all over again."

Vincent looked at him, an enormous weight on his shoulder. He finally nodded.

"Okay. For now, take a breath, go for a walk. This might take a while."

* * *

Vincent left the room, but only managed to go as far as the alleyway behind the lab. His own heart was doing loop-de-loops. He rubbed his eyes and mentally reviewed the events of her capture. No baby had been anywhere in sight. Daws was probably correct—Reynolds had had her for days. He either took the baby then, or she lost it in Cambodia and is so disoriented right now she doesn't know what's what.

He put a hand against the brick wall and bent his head. At least she was alive. And home. What happens next, they'll deal with together.

Daws surprised him by opening the door less than an hour later. "We need to talk."

Vincent got up off the ground. "What is it?"

Daws fidgeted a moment before replying. He took a deep breath. "Catherine delivered a baby. I'm certain of it."

"_What?_"

"Full term or close to it. Her body shows definite signs of a vaginal delivery. And not that long ago. Vincent, she had a child. And if it lived—and there's no reason, at this point, to believe it didn't—that baby is still in Cambodia."

Thankfully, the roar that accompanied that revelation corresponded with the blare of an emergency vehicle passing down a neighboring street.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Vincent stood in the doorway, his sensitive eyes easily picking out her sleeping form in the darkness. Despite Dawson's warnings, he couldn't stay away—at least not while she slept and was blissfully unaware of him. The miracle of having her back was still too new, raw. She was home, but she was terrified of him, and terrified for the child she left behind. Correction. The child _he _left behind.

He'd failed her. Not only hadn't he found her before she had to deliver their baby, naturally, alone, and in a dirt-poor region of a foreign country, but then he'd whisked her away before finding out about the child! God only knew what she'd been through in that desperate land facing labor alone and confused. And God only knew what she felt now. Her abhorrence for him was his just rewards. But he was going to fix it—fix it all.

He had only minutes before he had to leave. They'd scrambled a fresh pilot, used the last of everyone's pocket change to equip the mission, and would fly out at daylight. Having just found her, the last thing he wanted to do was abandon her again, but there was a little girl with his name on her half-way across the world. And he didn't intend to come home without her.

Kai had volunteered again, bless his soul. Dawson, in the meantime, had vowed to work with Catherine, correct some of her misconceptions, get her back some of her memories—at least of him. He prayed they were the good ones. That left Sara, Gabe, JT and Tess to solve the riddle that was Reynolds. Tori had done her part—now they waited to see what came of it.

His eyes roamed over her sleeping body, so peaceful and relaxed, now, with the pills Dawson supplied to help her rest. For a moment, he saw her as she'd been their last night together—the eve of their wedding. How he'd teased her with the promise of something special, and left them both aching and wanting that night. And how much he'd regretted that in the months that followed! For him, the ache had never diminished, not even a little. It had only grown stronger.

That she looked at him now with revulsion was nearly unbearable. Dawson explained how it had been done—the distorted memory and half truths they'd fed her, but the technical explanations didn't help. She was his woman, his fiancée, his soul mate and the love of his life. She'd accepted his hand in marriage, for God's sake! And while that had yet to happen, he believed them already bound in the eyes of God. Intertwined. United. _Unbreakable_. And they'd loved and laughed and created a child.

The thought brought a stabbing pain to his heart. _Abigail_. When Dawson told him he had a daughter and what her name was, he'd gone to his knees and cried like a baby on the alleyway steps. Abigail had been his mother's name. Had Catherine remembered?

_Make her fall in love with you again_. Dawson's advice—given as a friend—sounded so simple, but it was anything but. They would be a family again, but he had his work cut out for him.

In the half-light before dawn, he let his eyes devour every feature of her face, from the beautiful curves of her tear-drop nose, to the delicate arch of her eyebrows, to the luscious fullness of lips that had melded with his so many times—seeking, giving, caressing in a way that never ceased to take his breath away. And then he skimmed her form. Her slender limbs were leaner, but strong. But it was her breasts that had changed the most. They were full with milk. Dawson said that when she arrived, the front of her blouse was wet. It was his first indication she'd given birth. She'd been nursing Abby, and that fullness was painful to her now. The doctor had her expressing milk daily in order to keep producing for when the baby was returned.

Vincent leaned close to her face, steeling his arms not to reach out and touch. "I love you, Catherine, more than I'll ever be able to say," he whispered, "and I'll bring her back. To you. To us." He felt her soft exhalation of warm breath on his face. Her lips were so close, so close. It was agonizing not to kiss their softness. But if he did, he'd frighten her to death. And fear of him was something he couldn't bear to see in her beautiful eyes.

So he stepped away.

She turned her head and murmured something. Was it his name? He'd never know. A soft sliver of light touched the bed—the first finger of dawn. It was time for him to leave.

* * *

Dawson started coming to her apartment for regular sessions. He felt, and they all agreed, that Catherine needed familiar surroundings in order to get her memories back and rebuild her confidence. She also needed the truth—and Vincent. But Vincent was gone and the relief clearly showed on her face whenever he brought the subject up.

A light snow mixed with rain tapped the big bay window as they sat across from each other on the sofa.

"Tell me the first thing you remember about Cambodia."

She fidgeted, and he knew she was thinking of her child. "It feels strange to put a name to it. I thought it might have been China."

"Close enough," he smiled.

She bit her lip, coffee cup in hand. "Actually, what I remember first is falling out of an airplane, strangely enough. It was like I woke up mid air."

"Yikes. That had to have been terrifying."

"It was. But the scarier thing was not knowing what was happening, who I was, why I was there, or who I could trust."

"You said you escaped a man named Chen. A good move. I know him. Or know of him. Your instincts took over even when your brain could not."

She nodded, clearly not as confident in that statement as he.

"Have you started to remember your apartment here yet?"

She looked around. "It feels familiar, yes. Comfortable."

"What about a man, someone you loved here?"

She shivered and took a sip. "You're going to tell me it's Vincent again, but I don't believe you. That man terrifies me."

"You trust _me_, don't you, Catherine?"

"I think so. You seem . . . trustworthy."

"I'm going to tell you what happened to you, and I don't want you to evaluate it or form an opinion right now. Think of it as someone else's story. Then when we're finished, we'll discuss it. No judgments. Can you do that?"

"I'll try."

"Good. That's all I ask."

* * *

The villagers scattered when they landed. As Kai interviewed the ones near the truck in the largest field, he discovered that another man had recently been there, asking them similar questions: Was there a pregnant woman, a stranger, among them? And did she have a child? He'd left without answers, and they were getting nowhere, too. But they had the advantage of knowing Catherine _had _been among them.

They finished at the main house and were about to leave empty-handed when a young woman caught Vincent's eye. Hid half-way behind the building, she was staring intently at him. It was the same reaction most of the villagers had—he stood like a giant among them. But this one was more intense. He nodded to her. Did she want to speak with him? She disappeared around the corner in a game of hide-and-seek. He followed.

Out of sight of anyone else, she felt emboldened. She touched his hand—the one holding the photographs of Catherine they'd been showing around. She wanted to see them. Gabe had printed up color copies of Catherine's official NYPD mug shot, but it wasn't one he would have chosen. And it didn't speak of their relationship. So he'd brought along the only picture of the two of them together that he had—from her step-father's wedding. He held that one out.

The girl's eyes rounded with surprise. She reached out to stroke the image as if she were touching Catherine's hair. Then she looked up into his eyes. He pointed to Catherine and then to his heart. Then cradled his arms as he would a baby. His eyes held a question. She looked around to make sure no one else was watching, then she quickly nodded. His heart sped up.

Kai was still busy in the field. Vincent followed the girl to the back of the dwelling, then paused as she made him wait outside. Moments later she returned with a small, dark-haired bundle and held it out to him. His breath caught. The girl touched the sleeping baby's eyes, then pointed to his. The same, she was saying. _Your _baby. "Ab-i," she said in her foreign tongue. Vincent took the precious infant into his arms and stared at her perfect, perfect face. _Abigail!_

He bowed to the woman, trying with his eyes to make her understand the depth of his gratitude. Then she held out a hand to tell him to wait again. She returned moments later with another small bundle—this one of belongings. He placed a stack of bills in her hand and closed her fingers around them. It wasn't much, but a king's ransom to this woman. She bowed low.

He turned the corner and caught Kai's eye and nodded toward the chopper. Kai's face lit up with astonishment. _Time to go._

* * *

Vincent never even noticed how long the flight home took. He couldn't tear his eyes away from his delicately exotic daughter. Couldn't stop touching her, kissing her, loving the smell of her skin, her breath. Although he would love a child with Catherine's eyes, it was having eyes that looked like his that had branded her his child, and he couldn't be more thankful. He stared in fascination at them. She stared back, unafraid.

She also slept and cried a lot. They'd brought the milk Catherine had expressed. And while the baby balked, at first, at being bottle fed, he was gratified to know it was her own mother's milk he was feeding her. How he longed to see her at her mother's breast!

The first time the baby fell asleep, he unwrapped the bundle the girl had provided and was surprised to find a small notebook among the meager belongings. While Abby dozed, he read the journal entries, and wept.

* * *

Many hours later, Kai carefully opened the private compartment that had been turned into a make-shift nursery. He hadn't heard any noise coming from it in quite awhile and assumed the two were both asleep. Sure enough, Vincent reclined in the high-back seat, the baby on his chest, her tiny fingers wrapped around his, and their faces almost nose to nose. At first he thought they were sleeping. Then he realized father and daughter were quietly studying each other in a lazy, slumberous way. The pacifier hung lax out of Abby's little bird mouth.

Vincent's eyes lifted to Kai's. "She just smiled at me," he said in a voice filled with wonder.

A single guy with no experience with that, Kai just smiled back. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Not sure."

"The captain wanted to let you know we're almost home. He said to prepare for landing in about fifteen minutes."

"Thank you," Vincent whispered, and the door slid closed once again. He turned his attention back to the baby. "Ah, my love, you're almost home. And I'm going to take you straight to Mommy. She misses you very, very much. And I think she'll be very happy to see you again." The baby crinkled her face and started to fuss. "Go ahead and cry, sweetheart. I feel like it, too."

* * *

Catherine woke, disoriented. Despite the fact that she'd been home a week, it still happened. But this time something wasn't right. The street noises had taken getting used to after the quietness of the rice fields, but they were oddly silent now. She blinked and heard the soft, mewling sound again. So familiar, and yet—. She sat up in bed and twisted around. Then sucked in a breath.

"Abi—"

"Shhh. She's still sleeping." The tall man who had captured and so terrified her filled the chair next to the bed, the baby, asleep in his arms. Her first instinct had been to retreat from him, but she was so relieved to see her child she reached out instead. "Please . . ."

Vincent took in the desperation on her face. It was beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. "I'm going to put her in your arms. Don't fear me, Catherine. I would never, ever hurt you or Abby."

She trembled, but didn't retreat.

"She's so beautiful. Just like you," With slow and deliberate movements, he sat on the edge of the bed and transferred Abigail to her mother, careful not to touch her as he did. When he let go, he noticed the wet spots on her sleep top as her breasts anticipated the baby suckling. Abby woke and instinctively started rooting.

Overwhelmed at seeing her daughter, Catherine automatically started pulling down her sleeve, then suddenly remembered the other presence in the room. She lifted her eyes to his. "Turn away," she ordered.

He pressed his lips together. "I've seen your breasts, Catherine. I've seen all of you. We made Abigail together, don't you remember?"

There was a slight shake of her head, then she twisted her body so he couldn't fully see and gasped with relief when the baby latched on. Catherine cried. After a few minutes she realized he was still there. Composing herself and pulling a corner of the sheet up over the baby, she turned to him. "Thank you," she said stiffly. Then, "Would you . . . please go now? Please."

He hung his head. "Yes. I'll go. But I'll be back. Dr. Griggs told you who I am, didn't he? And that your fear of me isn't real?"

When she started to argue, he interrupted. "Honey, I know how real it _feels_. But you have to trust us and fight it. Abigail is my daughter, too. And I . . . I need you both."

Something in his eyes or voice must have convinced her, just a little. She looked down at Abby then back at him. "I need . . . time."

"I understand, but I . . . I just met my baby. I need to see her, too."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can." He sighed. "I'll give you a little time, Catherine, but I'll be back. I'm never leaving you again." He stood and pulled something thin and flat out of his jacket pocket and laid it upon the nightstand. "Keep writing." Then he pulled out another book, this one swollen and mangled and placed it beside the other. "But start by reading this."

Vincent had his phone to his ear before the apartment door even closed. "Daws. Tell me how to get Catherine back."

* * *

It was another week before he re-introduced them. Catherine sat in Dawson's make-shift office, her back stiff and straight.

"Okay, take a deep, calming breath and keep breathing," Dawson told her. "I'm going to call him in, but I'm not going to leave you, all right? You'll be perfectly safe. Remember that your fear is not real—it's a subliminal suggestion—like you've been hypnotized. You're going to wake up out of your hypnotized state and let your fear fall away, okay? Ready?"

"Yes. No. All right." Catherine sat with the baby in her arms like armor.

Dawson smiled. "I'm right here. Vincent?"

Vincent opened the door and moved very slowly into the room.

As first meetings went, it hadn't gone perfectly smooth, but it wasn't a complete disaster. He felt a moment of sheer bliss when the baby actually reached out for him. Catherine hadn't released her, but it was a start.

JT had suggested they hypnotize her for real with new suggestions, but Dawson disagreed. "It would be best not to screw with her psyche any more. Vincent strongly seconded that motion, even though it meant a much longer recovery period.

By another week later, they were making real progress. He sat across from her on the sofa in her apartment, just the two of them. Sara had bundled the baby up and taken her for a walk in the stroller for an hour of fresh air.

"The first time we met, I was the one who was terrified," he said softly.

"You were?"

"Well, it was our first official meeting. We'd crossed paths years before, but meeting you face-to-face, it was like . . . a dream come true, except I didn't know how you'd react. Would you remember me? Would you be afraid of me? Or would you treat me like a criminal?"

"Sounds a lot like today," she said, and tried to smile at him. "What did I do?"

He laughed "Well, you did have a gun trained on me at first."

"Ouch. Not the best way to start a relationship."

"No. But what happened after that was nothing short of a miracle." He held her gaze. "You accepted me, Catherine. Just as I was. Flaws and all. I wish," he took a ragged breath, "I wish I could take you back there to that place, help you remember, but it no longer exists. We blew it up."

It was her turn to laugh. She did so with reluctance, but it was still a laugh. "We did?"

"Yep. It was a crazy idea to clear my name that didn't work in the end. But we had so much hope. I wish I could take you back there because . . . that was where you first let me love you for the first time."

She visibly swallowed and looked away. He caught it her inward recoil, even though she tried to hide it. And it hurt. He pushed the thought away. Dawson had told him to be prepared for rejection—for a time.

"Did Daws also tell you that I'd lost my memory of those days for a while, too?"

She turned back to him, surprised. "No. What happened?"

"The same people who took you had kidnapped me—for about three months. Messed with my mind, changed me. When you found me, I didn't know who you were."

"H-how did you start to remember?"

"You helped me. You and JT. You told me about my past, what we meant to each other. You helped me piece things together. You even made love to me to try to jog my memories." A dimple appeared in his right cheek.

She put her feet up on the sofa and fractionally pushed herself farther away from him. He could feel her tension rise dramatically. He sighed and let the subject drop. A battle for another day. "I was wondering if you'd . . . come somewhere with me?"

She shifted nervously. "Where? The baby—"

He smiled. "Not far, and not for long." He stood up. "In fact, we won't even leave the building." He badly wanted to offer a hand, but he knew she wasn't ready for that. "Come." He felt her reluctance with every breath, but she got up. But when he headed for the bedroom, she balked.

"No, it's okay. Outside," he indicated the window. "Through there." He lifted the curtain and slid open the heavy glass to show her the fire escape. A wintry breeze filled the room.

"It's cold."

"Here." He handed her the blanket off the bed.

As they sat on the fire escape steps, a light snow began to fall and with it, her resistance. They stayed until their noses turned red and their fingers, blue, and Sara returned. Then he left her with a promise to take her to another place where snow had also played a prominent role.

* * *

By slow degrees, and through visits with Tess and JT, Gabe, even Tori and Blaise, Catherine's comfort level rose. She still had nightmares, but Dawson gave her something to help her sleep. Abby finally adjusted to a regular days and nights schedule, which helped, and she finally started feeling at home.

She still had trouble with Vincent's visits, but he wouldn't be persuaded to leave either her or Abby alone. He came by every day. And then he started coming in the evenings. It was obvious he loved the baby. It even made her jealous when Abigail reached for him, smiled for him. But she was learning to breathe.

But one night he didn't leave when the baby went down for the night.

Catherine came out of the bedroom to say good-bye and was surprised to find him just outside the door. "Oh!"

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, and she had a flash. _Rafters, a dusty room_.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Y-you said that to me before. Those very words. In an attic or someplace like that."

"You remember?

"I don't know. I just . . . I saw you."

He licked his lips. "Catherine . . ." Before he even thought about it, he reached for her hand. She jerked it back. Then she realized what she'd done. "I'm sorry." As soon as she said it, she gasped again.

"Another flash of memory?"

She raked her hair back. "I think so."

"That's good. That's very good."

* * *

Every day he got a little bit closer, and every day he felt like he was being put through the wringer. The question was, did she remember and accept his beast side? Though Dawson had broached the delicate subject, they'd yet to discuss it together, and he was starting to worry. The more time he spent with Catherine, the less he felt in control. Not only could he hear her heartbeat, but even from far away he could smell her. There was some connection to her hormones, too. He could sense when her milk let down. And that was driving him wild.

Tess and JT offered to watch the baby one night so they could have a 'date.'

As Vincent led her along through the woods, he stayed beside her, ready with a hand should she lose her footing. Unfortunately, she never did. When they came to the hidden meadow, she stopped.

"What is this place?" A lonely bench sat in one corner.

"Do you recognize it? It looks different now, but picture it with half a foot of snow on the ground."

Catherine turned. "Snowmen?"

He laughed. "Yes. Yes. Snowpeople. A male and female. And snow angels."

Just thinking of the time he rolled over her and kissed her in the snow made heat run up his neck. _God_.

Catherine didn't notice. She turned back to him. "And?"

A loaded question if ever there was one.

"We were just passing through. Come. I'll show you."

He had to let her climb to the second-story balcony herself. His hands desperately wanted to reach out and give her tush a much-needed boost, but he resisted, against all good sense. He was starting to feel deranged.

Once again he'd timed it to the start of music rehearsal in the studio below, and as the orchestra struck up a contemplative piece, he offered her his hand.

She stared at it.

"You've got to do it sometime, sweetheart. Catherine, I just want to dance with you."

She hesitated.

"I miss you _so _much," he tried again, the hand still held out. "Please, just . . . close your eyes and . . . breathe."

She let her eyelids drop. Then, with extreme care, he slid his fingers through hers and stepped in close.

It was like the first time they danced, not in this place, not at her apartment, but at her step-father's wedding. The magic of the moment. When she didn't balk, he ever-go-gently pressed her against him and rocked, her head against his chin. He fought to control his breathing, and his body's reaction. The song ended all too quickly.

As soon as it did, she started to step away. He curved a hand around her neck and brought her face to his.

She gasped,"No!" and stepped out of his embrace. She would have run, but he still had hold of her other hand.

"It's okay." He had to remind himself to breathe. When he had control again, he looked down at their hands—and the ring on her thumb. He rubbed a finger across it. "Do you know what this is?"

Catherine willingly left his gaze to look at her hand. "Dr. Griggs told me it's a wedding ring."

He pulled the chain out of his shirt. "It is. And it matches this one."

She pulled the ring off her thumb and tilted it to the light from the window. "I wasn't sure. It says something awful inside."

"Awful?"

"Yes. It says, 'No, love shall not.'"

Vincent swallowed. "That's the ring you were going to give me on our wedding day. And this was one for you." He took it from around his neck and showed it to her. "Maybe this will help."

She took the smaller ring and held it up to the light. " 'Love never—'"

"—'fails. No,'" he continued the quote, holding the second ring next to the first. "'love shall not.'"

"Oh." The word was a whisper in the moonlight.

He placed her ring in her hand and curled her fingers around it. "Part of it is from the Bible; the other is from a favorite quote your step-father, Thomas, taught you. Together, it sums up how we felt about each other and our love. We're going to get back to that place, Catherine. I promise you."

She tightened her hand around the ring as they walked back through the woods together.

* * *

"We think we have a working formula. Should be ready by week's end."

Bob Reynolds leaned back in his chair and studied his assistant, relief evident on his face. "Good. What did Chen have to say for himself?"

"Not much. He hasn't found her yet."

Bob curled his fingers into a fist.

"She's no doubt had the baby by now. If it survived."

"Dammit. I know that! Tell him to find my daughter or don't even think of coming home!"

Butler didn't even blink. "I'll relay the message, sir."

"Good. Oh, and Butler?"

His assistant turned.

"Did you set aside a vial like I told you to?"

"Absolutely. It's in the refrigerator in the lab. Under lock and key."

"Perfect."

Christopher Butler smirked to himself as he left the office. The second vial was safely stowed in his own refrigeration unit at home.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N - And now the conclusion of Wherever You Will Go, Part 2 of Stay With Me. We made it, beasties! Here's to the conclusion of Season 2 beginning in a couple of days, and to many more lovely, romantic moments to come. XOXO -Windflwr  
_  
**Chapter 8 (Conclusion)**

_The king of Zor, he called for a war  
And the king of Zam, he answered  
They fashioned their weapons, one upon one, ton upon ton  
They called for a war at the rise of the sun…_

_Two little kings, playing a game  
They gave a war and nobody came, nobody came…_  
_-from Zor and Zam (by Bill Chadwick and John Chadwick)_

"We've pinpointed his location, sir. Just like you expected, General Allyn followed us to New York. He's in a warehouse in the industrial district. Oklahoma Coral."

Bob Reynolds looked up from his computer. "OK Coral? Is that a joke?"

"No, sir." Butler looked puzzled, but his assistant didn't know Allyn like he did. Or American history, apparently. _Showdown at the O.K. Corral._ Bob smiled, he couldn't help it. He had to respect that kind of humor, even if it came from an enemy bent on murder and mayhem beyond imagining.

Bob looked out over the steel gray of the city. Brick buildings and concrete were all he could see from his sixth floor office, but he didn't care. No matter where he'd lived in the world, New York always felt like home. He just wished his return this time hadn't come with a madman on his heels. He sighed. Better New York than somewhere else, he supposed. At least here they had resources.

"You've replicated the serum?" he asked Butler without turning.

"As requested. But what are you going to do with it all?"

Bob picked up the phone. "Call in a very big favor."

* * *

Catherine leaned against the door frame of the bedroom, the scene before her capturing all of her attention. Vincent tended to Abby in the nursery. Obviously, his stint as a medical doctor had prepared him to deal with infants and children of all ages, but his instincts with his daughter came from deep within. He was so in love with her.

That love had, thankfully, translated to her as well. In the weeks since she'd been back, he'd stuck by her, no matter the trial it had been. Despite the sessions with Daws, the process had been slow and painful for the both of them. Now he was her constant companion, and the fear had slowly receded until it was more of a memory.

He was creative and considerate, but most of all patient. When talking seemed hard, they took cushions and blankets to the roof, found a very dark spot, and counted the stars in the frigid night sky. When Abby was awake, they spent lazy days on the floor with her. But it was the long, quiet evenings spent talking long into the night that Catherine treasured the most. One night they read their journal entries together. Another, he brought a small box filled with stories and promises. Not all of her memories were back, but she had enough. And with seeing him now, those tiny spikes of adrenalin when he was near had nothing to do with fear. She wanted him, and he'd made it very clear how much he wanted her. But while time and familiarity definitely bred comfort, she still felt a little shy. Vincent deserved so much more. Perhaps tonight she'd give it to him.

Just then the baby burped and spit up all over his shirt.

She giggled. "That's what you get for bouncing her like that so soon after she ate," she said, coming further into the room. "You were supposed to be putting her to bed, not waking her up."

He laughed, too, and used a nearby cloth to wipe his shoulder. "Abby wasn't ready for bed quite yet."

"Oh, she told you that, did she?"

"Yes. She did." He smiled and those captivating dimples appeared in his cheeks.

She looked at her daughter and thought she could see the beginning of a dimple in hers, as well. How perfect! Catherine grinned, took the baby and laid her in the crib. Then she turned to him with a hand out. "Let me have your shirt. I'll wash it."

"It's fine," he said, rubbing at the spot again. "I can just throw some water on it in the bathroom."

"Give," she said more forcefully. "You're not going home with a wet shirt. Not in this weather. It will only take a minute to hand-wash, then I'll throw it in the dryer."

Perhaps it was the 'going home' part that changed his mind. The task would delay the inevitable. Vincent only hesitated a moment before giving in. "Oh. Okay." He started yanking his shirt up and over his head.

She gasped.

"What is it?"

Her eyes fixed on his waist and the puckered, mottled skin that was revealed when his undershirt came up. "Your scars."

He eased it back down over them. "Old. Not to worry." He handed her his shirt.

She took it and frowned. "Really?"

"You don't remember?"

"Should I?"

He looked as though he was about to say something, then closed his jaw. "Nope. Not at all."

She squinted at him, unsure. Then she shrugged it off and headed to the laundry room sink. "I'll be right back."

Long minutes later she got the dryer going and joined him in the living room. He handed her a mug of hot tea and sipped one of his own.

They studied each other in silence for a few minutes. Then he suddenly got up, set his cup down, and took her drink from his hand, setting it on the coffee table as well.

"Hey!"

"You know," he said, leaning over her. "I'm starting to feel jealous of that mug." He pulled her over to the couch and onto his lap. She didn't resist.

"You are?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Mmm-hmm. And the chair you were sitting in. The," he ran a thumb over her lower lip, "tube of lipstick you used . . . ."

She licked her lips. He groaned.

"But most of all, I find myself feeling jealous of your clothes and the bed sheets—over you, under you, wrapped all around you . . ."

She swallowed and his lips parted.

"W-what are you saying?" she whispered, half afraid of the answer, half highly anticipating it. His face was so close she could feel his breath. She started to duck her chin, but he caught it in his fingers.

"I think it's time we did something about it, don't you?"

She didn't recall nodding or not, but suddenly he was there, rubbing his nose and fine chin stubble all along her neck. As his knowing fingers sought out the curves of her ear, the fine downy hairs at her nape stood straight up.

Catherine felt herself succumbing to his touch as if she'd been drugged. She made a tiny sound when she shivered. It was all the encouragement he needed. Heads together, he looked in her eyes. "I'm going to kiss you now. Don't move."

She wiggled. "I wouldn't think of it. But hurry. I'm about to turn into a puddle at your feet."

He chuckled. "That wouldn't be good."

"No." It was a whisper mixed with a sigh.

Vincent didn't hesitate. He captured her lips in hot, open-mouthed kisses which ended in slow tongue tangles that curled her toes. After a few minutes, she wasn't the only one making sounds. As with his mouth, his hands roamed all over her. The more she allowed, the more he took. Finally, he let out a frustrated grunt, lifted her up, and headed to the bedroom.

* * *

With the light from the baby monitor the only illumination in the room, they studied each other. "Are you okay?" he finally asked, leaning over her in the dark.

She stretched beneath him. "I'm better than okay."

"You sure?" Worry drew deep slashes between his brows. "I'm afraid I got a little . . . overzealous for a moment there."

She smiled at the vulnerability she saw in his eyes. _Little boy lost_. "You mean those glowing, golden orbs? Oh, or the ripped bedding? I know you said you were jealous of the sheets, but isn't that taking things a bit too far?"

"I'm sorry."

"No worries. I think some of those grooves were there already," she grinned.

Her attempt to tease him out of it didn't work. She smoothed a finger down those frown lines. "You know, I'm tougher than you think. And I know you'd never hurt me. Not intentionally."

Vincent searched her face with all of his senses. _Truth_. He dropped his face to her chest and whispered, "Thank you, God."

* * *

Long hours and several cat naps later he had them both in an 'overzealous' state again. Catherine was panting when one of the phones on the night stand began to buzz.

"I think that's me," he grunted, and leaned over toward the table.

"Oh, my God. Let it ring. You can't stop now!"

He looked down at her face, his expression one of pure pleasure. Then he reached for his cell. "Greedy wench. It must be important for someone to call at this time of morning. Don't worry," he added, with a kiss. "We are definitely going to finish what we started." He had no intention of leaving them in the state of wanting like he had before.

He swiped the screen and frowned. "It's Tess."

"Tess?" Catherine sat up. "Calling _you?_"

He shrugged. "Missing person, maybe?"

She sagged back down to the bed. "To interrupt that, it had better be the president!" she grumbled.

He chuckled. "Tess? Hey."

* * *

"I just don't see why you have to go. It's got nothing to do with us." Catherine followed him around the room, baby in arms.

"It has everything to do with _beasts_, and that makes it my business. Catherine," he put both hands on her shoulders. "It was your father who asked for our help. You know he'd have to be pretty desperate to do that. It must be extremely important."

"But what if it's a trap? You know the way he is. He doesn't do anything without an ulterior motive. You can't just walk into it. I've never even heard of that warehouse. Do they even have coral in Oklahoma?"

"It doesn't matter. It's a real warehouse—I Googled it. From what I understand from Tess, a very dangerous man is in New York and he's mustered a small army of beasts."

"I thought there weren't any more!"

"These are . . . different. And innocent people are being used for nefarious purposes. He's after your father, yes, but us as well. It threatens everything we have. We've got to neutralize this force, and fast, or no one will be safe. Catherine, I have to do this—for you and for Abby, don't you see?" He shrugged into his heavy overcoat.

"It's just that . . . we just got back to a good place, and I . . . I really can't lose you now."

He turned. "Oh, honey, you are not going to lose me, I promise. I'm trained for this. And with our whole crew, this maniac is out-gunned. Besides, he has no idea how badly I want to live to see another day. Please, just stay here with the baby. I'll be stronger knowing you and Abigail are safe." He leaned down for a mind-melting kiss.

Her body followed his when he finally leaned away.

"Okay?" he asked.

She pressed her lips together, but nodded. "Okay."

* * *

"Here. Everybody grab one." Gabe passed out tranq guns like they were candy to the group assembled at the clinic. Even Sara automatically reached for one.

"Where did you get all these?" Tess frowned.

"You'd be surprised," Gabe answered. Then he passed plans of the warehouse around the room. "The guns are filled with not only an extra heavy tranquilizer, but also a special serum which will neutralize the agent Allyn's 'pseudo-beasts' have been given."

"Neutralize?"

"Not kill them. Kill the beast mode they're in. Shut it down."

"How many of them are there?" It was Kai's turn to ask.

"We don't know for sure. We're guessing ten to twenty."

Someone swore.

"But with these, it will be easy-peasy," Gabe insisted. "You've each got ten shots. That's way more than we'll need. Just make them count."

"It took several darts to take you down," Vincent reminded Gabe. "And sixteen bullets to the chest and you still survived."

Gabe had the grace to flinch, recalling the horrific time when he was a beast himself. Then he shook his head toward the entire group. "Not to worry. The doses in these guns are much stronger and laced with a powerful serum. Hit them once and they'll go down and not get up, trust me." He looked at his watch, then around the room. "Are we set?"

All shook their heads. JT looked at Tess. "Who suddenly died and made Gabe God?"

She shrugged. "Reynolds?"

He grabbed his gear and followed her out. "Yeah, _that _makes me feel real good."

* * *

At one end of the open warehouse, they took their stand, Vincent in the lead. Just then, a car screeched to a halt behind them and they all turned, guns at the ready. Tori and Blaise jumped out, guns in their own hands.

"Sorry we're late!" Tori joined Vincent at the front and grinned at him.

Vincent looked back at Blaise, who'd taken a stance slightly behind and to the left of them. "You gave that boy a gun?" he asked, astonished. "He _is _still legally blind."

"Hey," she said. "That's no boy, and Blaise has an amazingly well-developed sense of direction." She dared him to disagree.

A final car pulled up. Out stepped Agent Reynolds, black tie and all.

"Nice of you to join us," JT offered. "Like he's never seen a day in the slammer," he grumbled next, a deep frown on his face.

Bob ignored him. "I know none of you want to be here, but I thank you anyway. If we don't stop James Allyn today, it ends here. For all of us."

"You can skip the pep talk," Vincent told him. "We're here for our own reasons, not yours."

"As I told my daughter," Reynolds said, directing his response to the super-soldier. "Some things are bigger than you or I."

Just then the door at the end of the long building screeched open.

* * *

Catherine grabbed the baby bag and everything else she could think of, bundled Abby up, and ran out the door. She banged on the apartment kitty-corner to hers. "Diana!"

Another knock later, the door opened and a young girl poked her head out.

"Oh, hi, Ele. Wow, you've really grown. Say, have you ever considered doing any babysitting?"

"Hey, Catherine." A woman filled the doorway behind the teen. "I saw that you'd returned. Welcome back. Oh, my God, how precious," the woman said, ogling the baby.

Catherine couldn't help but smile. "Yes. Thank you. Abby and I have been out of the country. Listen, I'm so glad you're home. I've been meaning to stop by and say hello, but right now I have something of a . . . family emergency to deal with. Could I possibly talk you or Ele into babysitting Abby for a little while this morning? I've got everything she needs right here."

"Oh. I hope everything's all right?"

"So do I."

"Cop business, huh?"

"S-something like that, yes," Catherine fudged. There _would _be cops there. She looked at her neighbor expectantly.

Diana looked at her daughter. "Well, I'm sure we could help you out. What do you think, daughter?"

The freckle-faced teen nodded enthusiastically.

It was all the confirmation Catherine needed. She transferred Abby to Diana's arms with a big sigh of relief. "Thank you so much! She's a sweetie, but if she cries, her pacifier's in the bag. She'll probably be hungry in an hour or so, then she'll go down for a good, long nap. I should be back by then." If all went according to plan, that was. Not that it ever did. She pulled out a slip of paper. "Here's the phone number to the precinct if you need anything at all." Not that she would be there, but at least someone would help.

"Oh. Okay."

"I'm sorry. I've got to run!"

* * *

Catherine found the warehouse some miles out of downtown in a run-down district of the city. She recognized Tori's white Jag in front, a throwback to her rich-girl days. A twig snapped behind her and she started to turn . . . when she felt the poke of heavy steel at her back.

"A late-comer to the party, I see. And such a nice surprise! I recognize your face. Won't Daddy be pleased to see you?"

"Who are you?" Catherine tried to turn her head but he was propelling her forward.

"He didn't explain? I'm crushed. Just a man with a dream," he sighed, and she smelled tobacco on his breath. "One you're going to help make come true."

With another man's help, he grabbed her wrists and secured them behind her back with wire of some sort. She still had her feet free, at least, but for how long? Catherine had no choice but to allow herself to be prodded along and let play out whatever he had in store. She only hoped there would be an opportunity to escape at some point before she became the pawn he so enthusiastically seemed to want.

"I hear your friends have all arrived. Just in time. They're around the corner." He called to a bald man in a hoody standing guard in front of a van. "On my signal."

The man nodded.

"And now, my dear, shall we just wait here? I love to make a grant entrance, but this time it might be best to wait behind this very thick wall." When she frowned at him, he added, "Pip-pip. Chin up."

They moved closer to a center doorway. She had a very bad feeling about this.

The bearded man holding her nodded to baldy near another door. That man opened the rear doors of the cargo van and jumped aside. Horrible growling noises echoed in the empty chamber.

"Now!"

Bearded man's two partners used their guns to herd the group exiting the van to the open doorway, then followed them through.

What happened next was the stuff of nightmares. As soon as the beasts ran through the door, Catherine heard a cacophony of sounds, which included lots of yelling, growling, and guns shots. Whatever was going down on the other side of the door, Vincent was in the thick of it, she had no doubt. She couldn't distinguish his roar from the others, but he was there. She struggled against her bonds.

It was only a matter of minutes before all fell deathly silent once again. _No!_

Bearded fellow looked down at her. "Well, shall we? Too bad we had to miss all the excitement, but let's go peak at the carnage, now, okay?"

He dragged her along after him.

Smoke from an nearby chimney wafted through the airy space, but as an icy breeze displaced it, everything became clear. Ahead of them, brown crumpled leaves blowing between, lay a mass of bodies.

Catherine's eyes darted from one to another, searching. It was then she spotted the small band of people still in formation at the back of the open chasm. And Vincent. He gasped when he saw her and started forward.

"Catherine!"

Everyone's gun came up.

"Hold!" Beard-man beside her screamed, and yanked her face more tightly in front of him.

Vincent froze.

"I'm sorry!" she shouted back, the cold barrel of the gun pressed painfully against her temple. This was _so _not the way she'd wanted things to go.

The man holding her swiveled around, frantically checking the bodies strewn across the blacktop. She felt his rage boil to the surface. "It can't be! It's too soon!"

Then she saw someone step forward from the side, dressed in a black business suit and tie, and realized with a shock that it was her father. He held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"James, it's over."

"No! What have you done? This can't be," he repeated, again scanning the bodies.

"They're not dead. They're asleep. But they won't wake up beasts ever again."

Allyn roared his displeasure. "You weren't supposed to win this one. It's impossible! Impossible!" he repeated. Then he must have realized how things were. He straightened and turned toward Bob. "You forget I'm still holding the trump card."

Catherine heard Vincent's low growl and agonized over the position she'd stupidly placed herself in.

Tori put a calming hand on Vincent's arm and made him turn. "I got this," she whispered. Before he could answer, she stepped out in front of them all.

"General Allyn, I presume?"

Allyn turned. "Who the hell are you?"

"You're worst nightmare," Vincent heard Tori murmur under her breath before she pasted a fake smile on her face. "No one significant, really. But all this jabbering gives me a terrible headache, and you really don't want to see me when I'm angry." She kept walking.

Allyn backed up a step, dragging Catherine with him.

"Catherine, sweetie, so nice to see you again. Would you mind ducking to your left on the count of three? One. Two." She raised her gun. Allyn raised his.

"Tori, no!" Vincent rushed forward, but she was in between them.

Several shots rang out simultaneously. Then everyone froze.

Catherine felt the weight of the baddy at her back as he pulled her down with him. Then Vincent was there, dragging him away from her. He ran his hands quickly over her body, but the blood came from the other man. "I'm fine, I'm fine!" she waved him away. "Get to Tori!"

"Abigail?" he asked anxiously.

"She's fine. Safe."

Satisfied, he spun back to Tori. Blaise was already on his knees beside her.

"Well, crap," Tori muttered. "That hurt more than expected."

"Vincent?" Blaise's anxious question was met with a grim smile.

"She's hurt, but she'll be fine, Blaise. Fine." Vincent peeled back the shoulder of Tori's jacket to access the wound. It was messy, but not life threatening. He pressed his hand to it while the others hustled for a first aid kit.

"I'd ask it again," he said to Tori. "But I feel like I'm repeating myself."

She winced up at him. "You mean, 'what'd ya do that for?'" She laughed, then gasped at the pain that produced.

"I think I should be the one demanding answers," Blaise groused at her.

Tori's eyes met Vincent's. "I started this mess. I had to finish it," she said quietly, then looked up toward Bob.

All eyes turned to him. Then all guns.

Vincent finished with Tori, then stood and faced the man who always seemed to be at the root of their troubles. Bob put up his hands.

Tess stepped around behind and slapped handcuffs on him while Kai patted him down.

"What's this for?" Reynolds demanded, indignant. "We're all on the same team now, right?"

"Try kidnapping, to start," Tess said.

Kai found the vial and everyone gasped.

"Blood is everything," Bob said, shrugging in his arrogant way.

Vincent growled but Catherine, getting to her feet, stayed him with a hand. "May I?"

He smiled at her. "Be my guest."

"Who's Abigail?" Bob asked no one in particular.

"Thank you for asking." Catherine round-house kicked him. He landed with a thud, out cold. "None of your damned business!"

"The kidnapping charge alone will keep him locked up for a very long time, if I have anything to do with it," Gabe told her, joining them over the body. "And I do."

"Where have I heard that before?" Vincent grumbled.

Catherine placed a hand on his arm. "Can we go home now?"

He ran a thumb across her cheek. "Absolutely."

* * *

Sara finished helping Tori into the ambulance, then turned, surprised to find JT still there.

"All good," she told him. "She'll be fine."

"Good to know. Good to know." He studied her. "Not your first time in a fire fight I assume? You were pretty good back there."

"Just pretty good?" she smirked. "I nailed every one of my shots. There's still six left." She held up her gun.

"Perhaps 'awesome' is a more accurate term."

"I think you're right. Hey, um. Would you like to come over for dinner sometime? For old time's sake?"

Tess caught the scene from several yards away and shook her head. Daws noticed the direction of her gaze and came up beside her. "I heard everyone's meeting at the club in a bit for a little celebration, but—"

"You want to go get a drink, somewhere, instead?" she asked him.

His eyes lit up. "Lead on, pretty lady. Lead on."

* * *

Tori sat with Abby on her lap, the baby's tiny fingers wrapped around each thumb.

Catherine watched from a distance. "How's she doing?" she asked Vincent, who'd come to stand by her side.

Vincent glanced over at the scene. Blaise sat next to Tori on the couch. "She'll hurt for a while. You remember how long it took for your shoulder to heal? Oh. Or maybe you don't."

Catherine fingered the scar on her own shoulder. "I do. And I seem to remember you helping me with it."

He grinned, very happy to know that.

Just then, Blaise stood and delivered Abby to Catherine's arms. "I don't want Tori to wear herself out," he said, and Catherine wondered if that was just an excuse. The loss of their own child had to make playing with hers very painful."

"Sure. I totally understand."

"Thank you," Tori said, joining them.

"I'm the one who should be thanking you," Catherine said.

Tori shrugged. "Nothing you wouldn't do for the ones you love," she said, glancing at Blaise.

"Take care of her. We'll see you guys around." Vincent patted Blaise on the shoulder.

"Yeah, don't be strangers," Catherine added. "You can come by and visit any day. I may need a babysitter from time to time, too, if the teenager next door can't do it."

Blaise laughed. "Okay. If it's a paying gig, then I'm in. Huh, Tors?"

"Yeah, right. See you." She leaned over for a gentle hug from both of them. Then Blaise led Tori out the door.

Catherine waited until it shut before turning to Vincent. "Do you think that helped? I mean, maybe Abby will convince them to try again."

He put his arm around her. "I hope so."

Everything was quiet and peaceful for about an hour before the doorbell rang again. Catherine frowned. "Who, now?"

"Oh. Uh. I have a surprise for you. I invited your sister over."

When she blanched, he added, walking toward the door, "We gave her the narrative Gabe came up with—that your life had been threatened, so we had to get you out of town until the danger was over."

"Oddly, a mainly truthful rendition of the story."

"The best kind." He smiled. "Are we good?"

She took a breath. "Okay."

He opened the door. Heather stood uncertainly. Then she saw the baby. And squealed.

They spent the next hour mending bridges with baby love.

* * *

When they were finally alone again, Catherine put Abby to bed in the nursery and and joined him in the bedroom.

Vincent pulled her into his arms. "Think she's forgiven us?"

"I think today went a long ways toward that." She looped her arms around his neck. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Thank Abby." He kissed her.

"Yeah. She has a way of melting even the hardest feelings." She sighed. "But I think Heather's still a little ticked about the wedding." She fingered the ring her finger.

"Oh."

"No, it's all right. My choice. And my sister will survive." She reached up on her tip toes to kiss him again. "Can I help it if I couldn't wait another moment?"

He shook his head. "I wasn't going to stop you. And it was my great pleasure to join you there." He let their tongues dance together for long, leisurely minutes. "Speaking of pleasure," he finally groaned and tilted her away. "The baby's asleep, the guests are gone. What would you like to do now?" he asked, a small grin lighting his handsome features.

Catherine took a deep breath and seemed to consider. "Well, there are dishes to clean, some dirty diapers to deal with—"

He walked her backward toward the bed.

"We might be low on groceries," she continued, wagging a finger at him. "I mean, the way you two eat—"

He caught it and bit down gently, and she squeaked. "Okay, forget that idea. I believe we have something to finish. We need to get working on those eight cross-species children we planned to have. We have at least seven more to go."

He froze. "You remember that?"

"How could I forget?"

"Seven, huh? I seem to recall you deciding three would be better."

"After seeing you as a Daddy, I think we need to keep you at it for a very long time to come."

"Oh, yeah? You know," he said, turning serious. "We haven't tested Abby yet. There's a chance she's perfectly normal and doesn't have my DNA."

Catherine doubted that, staring deep into the eyes that so matched those of her beautiful daughter. "I'm not worried about it."

"It could put any fears to rest."

Catherine shook her head. "You know, I don't want to know. I'm perfectly content with the way things are. Come what may."

"Okay, but if Abby does transform sometime in the future, we'll probably have to move."

She conceded that point with a nod. "Maybe somewhere out in the country?" The idea had merit. And a lot of appeal. As long as it was nowhere near Montauk. She twirled the gold band that now rested on the ring finger of her left hand. They'd celebrated two days after their victory with a quickie wedding at the courthouse, just JT, Tess, and Abby as witnesses. But that was perfectly fine with her.

"Mrs. Keller, I'll go wherever you will go."

She caressed his lips with hers. "Then that's all that really matters."

***The End***


End file.
